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Chapter 10: Green Vision

Lynn Street 16, at the corner of the Monument of the Goddess of Night.

Elliot clutched a crumpled white document with an orange signature in his left hand. With his right, he knocked three times on the door. Alone beneath the starry sky, the golden moon shone brightly above him, casting a warm glow that mingled with the distant mist.

Click!

With a downcast gaze, Elliot raised his left hand slightly. "Are we finally here?" Edwin chuckled, glancing at the back of Elliot's head, playfully swatting him with his rolled-up newspaper. "You red-bloods are nothing but vermin!"

As Edwin caught sight of the document—or rather, the contract—he intended to slam the door shut and retreat into the house. However, despite his trembling hands and quaking knees, Elliot managed to prop the door open with his fingers. He bit down hard on his lip, tensing his body against the growing panic. Tears brimmed in his eyes as he clutched his nearly healed palm with his right hand, forcing himself to maintain control.

"Is that the rebellious phase of the Red Bloods?" Edwin laughed, his tone light rather than malicious. But soon, he furrowed his brow. "What's with that?"

Elliot responded, his voice barely above a whisper as the throbbing in his hand intensified. "At my job, they said I should come washed." He held up his pulsating, veined hand, his gaze fixed downward.

With another playful thump to the back of Elliot's head, Edwin spoke in a condescending tone. "There's a public bath for you red-blooded scum just around the corner." He reached for the door again, threatening to close it. "Take a right on Lynn Street, then left at Iron Street."

Pow! Whoosh!

A gust of wind tousled Elliot's hair, missing his nose this time. Internally, he chuckled, Not this time. But his focus remained fixed on the rolled newspaper, glimmering in the moonlight that was slowly obscured by drifting clouds. "Red blood beneath us," he murmured to himself as he made his way to his dark room. The door swung open automatically.

"Not even locked…" Yet Elliot remained transfixed on the newspaper, leaning against the cold, dark wall. Stretching his trembling legs, he squinted at the illegible text in the dimness of the room.

Zentria Worldview – 3rd Astra 1613 AORB

The Breach of the Pact with the Red Bloods: Red Blood Among Us!

On the 3rd of Astra, 1613, according to the AORB calendar, we have broken the long-standing treaty with the Red Bloods. They have become increasingly audacious; their resources are dwindling, and with them, their value. Particularly on our continent, Elisia, which borders the Earth, internal conflicts have ignited. Noble families such as Rosenmahl, ZwischenBrück, Heide, Reichenfell, Jägerssohn, and many more have demanded an end to the alliance. Their argument is straightforward: To extract more profit from the losses. More slaves mean more workers, leading to greater entertainment through active intervention on the Earth. Passive observation or occasional visits are no longer sufficient.

We have never had the opportunity to demonstrate our superiority over the Red Bloods in full—an outdated and exhausting limitation that may have been thrilling centuries ago, but is no longer relevant today.

Now, these Red Bloods dare to rebel against us! What began with a mere handful is swelling in numbers. More of them have begun to harness the power of the blood system. Who would have thought that these rat-like beings could defeat the Green Bloods, the shapeshifters? This means they are either on their way here or perhaps already among us.

The population is thus urged to remain vigilant. Observe your neighbors, friends, and even family members closely. Any unusual behavior could be a sign that a Red Blood has assumed their form. A reward of 10 Elis is offered for every Red Blood—alive or dead.

Elliot's eyes widened in disbelief as his pain and worries evaporated. His heart raced as he read the newspaper, his gaze darting from the page to the wall and back again. Finally, his mouth closed, and his eyes shut, a faint smile creasing his lips. He felt at ease, his pulse beginning to settle.

In his left hand, he clutched the newspaper, but his grip relaxed until it slipped from his fingers and fell to the cold floor. Beside the sleeping Elliot lay the open newspaper, displaying the wanted notices of 14 individuals, each adorned with a bounty of 10 Elis. Among them was a muscular, sun-kissed man with a massive tattoo covering his right arm, an elegant red-haired woman, and a slender young boy of about sixteen with black hair. Another tall, lean man had a model-like face. Yet amidst the 14 individuals, a blonde young man stood out, his azure eyes hidden beneath the crowd. His gaze was cold, and his clothes stained in various colors. It was Ren—Elliot's older brother.

In the dark void.

When Elliot opened his eyes, he found himself once again in the black space. It seemed empty, save for the glowing blue crystal. This time, Elliot refrained from rushing toward the crystal; instead, he walked in the opposite direction. Yet his surroundings did not change. Whenever he turned around, he was met again by the shimmering blue crystal.

As he pondered, he spun around again and again, his brows furrowed in confusion. What is this place?

 

Shhiiing!

Suddenly, it began to dim, and before Elliot knew it, he spotted another light in addition to the blue one. His face and body were now illuminated by a faint, bluish-green glow emanating from a crystal. He squeezed his eyes shut, finding that even his hand could cast no shadow before him. After a few seconds, the blinding light faded behind his eyelids, plunging him back into darkness.

Green color? Does that signify a new body? A shiver coursed down Elliot's spine. Don't tell me the colors reflect the blood… Yet, after a few more moments, he sought the positive. Perhaps there are vegan shapeshifters too… He gazed deeply into the dimming light of the green crystal, but the blue one vanished from his peripheral vision in an instant.

"No, no, no!" He sprinted toward the blue light, desperate to touch it, but nothing happened despite his frantic efforts. Elliot's brows furrowed in a serious expression as he regarded the still-glowing green crystal. It seems I have no real choice. How many hours would I have to wait otherwise? It's not like I want to watch people get eaten… His expression darkened as he reached out to grasp the green crystal.

Whoooosh!

Along Belington Street in the Kingdom of Nigil.

A man cloaked in black garb, hooded and masked, strode purposefully through the darkness. His strides were long, yet unhurried. The only discernible features were his slightly lighter blue-gray eyes. He walked steadily as the rain began to fall more heavily, a stark contrast to the serene starry sky and golden moon. Only a few passersby rushed by, shielding themselves with their umbrellas or shirts. Yet the man in black continued calmly through the downpour until he turned right and pushed open a door reminiscent of those from the Wild West.

He stood tall, his cold gaze scrutinizing the stares of those present, some instinctively reaching for their pockets while others grasped knives or pistols. Their expressions were serious, unflinching at the prospect of violence. Finally, he turned his attention to the bartender, who sported a sleek, slicked-back hairstyle. His thin, old-fashioned mustache was gray and white, and despite the wrinkles around his eyes, he appeared surprisingly youthful for his age. He juggled two glasses filled with an unspecified liquid, casting glances toward the man in black—Elliot.

What the hell is going on here? Am I in some bad Wild West film? Elliot sighed inwardly but managed a smile, relieved that he didn't appear to be in immediate danger of being devoured.

"A Mojito, Wyan style," he ordered in a deep voice.

The bartender met his request with calm eyes and a nod, continuing to shake the bottle. His own voice was deep and gravelly, "Coming right up." As Elliot felt a chill from the gaze of the others, the man in black settled comfortably onto a tall wooden stool at the bar, allowing his black garb and mask to drape over the backrest. He now wore only a tight-fitting shirt that accentuated his muscular physique. Bandages peeked out from under the sleeves, revealing scars on his exposed skin. His face was clean-shaven and well-groomed, his black hair falling to his ears and parted down the middle.

As he glanced at his reflection in the glass window filled with bottles, Elliot couldn't help but whistle inwardly. Not bad, he thought, taking a longer look until the bartender turned his attention back to the muscular man.

"You can leave now." The muscular man's cold gaze remained fixed on the elegant bartender, who gestured toward the back door. The other patrons' expressions darkened, their grim stares shifting to the man until they resumed their own drinks. The raucous conversations abruptly ceased.

Was that a password?! A real one used to gain access to someone powerful and secretive? Elliot felt a mix of tension and excitement. Either this will play out like in the movies or… well, like in the movies. He sighed inwardly, watching as the muscular man walked toward the back door.

It was darker than in the previous room, hardly illuminated by candles or oil lamps as was typical. There truly seems to be no electricity here, Elliot mused as he stared through the eyes of the muscular man into the darkness. Only one candle flickered on a small table. Seated before it was a large man dressed in a black suit. He was nearly indistinguishable, save for the stark contrast of his pale skin. The figure gazed timelessly into the small, dancing flame.

"So small and so fragile…"

Whoooshh!

In an instant, the tiny orange-yellow flame extinguished, and Elliot along with the muscular man heard a whisper. "Who sent you?" The voice was rough and its breath cold. As Elliot recoiled inwardly, teetering on the edge of collapse, the muscular man stared coldly at the extinguished candle. With a mere snap of his fingers, the candle flickered back to life, along with the chandelier above and many others in the room, illuminating the bar—a cozy, cluttered space filled with brown hues, shelves, and books scattered about.

"I'm from Markus, Markus Linnegar, and he said to find Reggy." The man in the black suit, now clearly visible as Reggy, returned to his previous seat with uncanny speed. The change in air pressure sent the muscular man's medium-length black hair flying to the side.

"Markus, huh…" Reggy crossed his legs and inquired, "What kind of job are you willing to take?"

The muscular man replied, void of any emotion, "Anything."

Reggy clapped his hands, "Ah, that's the kind I prefer! Hehe." Rising, he fixed his gaze on Elliot and the muscular man, stating, "There's a little dilemma. An esteemed anonymous individual has asked me to eliminate his enemy. But this esteemed enemy is rather far away—about 10,000 kilometers in Zentria. As you can imagine, few are willing to travel there, especially since it's a jurisdictional kingdom, which means you're completely out of luck if caught. Well, that applies to the weak, but you… dear turquoise sky, you look strong. The job is quite simple: you only need to take out a small subgroup of an organization and retrieve a specific artifact to deliver it to a designated location. For 300 Elis, the job is yours."

As Reggy awaited a response, a wide grin spread across his face, his hands rubbing together. Before he could speak again, a sharp whisper pierced the air around Elliot and the muscular man, accompanied by a prick and a trickle of green blood. Reggy scooped a drop of the blood with his finger and said, "You can start making your way to Zentria. Along the way, I'll send you certain messages. However, do bear in mind that you must always carry an open wound and a piece of paper with you." He added with a grim smile, "Otherwise, I won't be able to reach you, my dear."

With a shabby grin, Reggy bid farewell and snapped his fingers, causing the darkness in the room to spread once more. However, the muscular man—inside whom Elliot resided—was already outside, and not a single soul in the bar paid him any mind. Even the bartender only acknowledged him with an elegant glance while reshaping ice cubes into spheres.

Stepping out of the bar and into the dark night illuminated by the golden moon, the muscular man strode deeper into the colored mist that swirled around him. He continued until he paused at a side alley. The air was damp, shrouded in darkness and the stench of decay. Broken bottles, vomit, and various pieces of litter littered the ground. Yet amidst the chaos lay a figure. A young man, appearing in his early twenties, with disheveled brown hair and soiled clothes. His eyes, an unsettling shade of blue without pupils, stared blankly into the void. Blood and maggots oozed from his mouth and ears, and blue tears streamed down his face. But he was long gone—dead.

In an instant, as the muscular man touched the lifeless body, a transformation began. The black hair shifted to brown, and the grayish-brown eyes morphed into a blend of dark green and orange. The once stark features of the face became rounder, exuding an unsettling allure. He appeared younger and more innocent, yet the coldness lingered in the corners of his mouth and the depths of his eyes. Stripped down to nothing but socks and underwear, the young man—a now-vibrant being—reached for clean clothes resting on a dry stone beneath an overhang just a few meters down the dark alley.

With swift efficiency, he dressed in beige trousers, brown leather shoes, and a white shirt layered with a beige vest. After brushing off the remnants of dirt from his chest and legs, he rifled through the pockets of the still-lifeless young man. He retrieved a leather wallet and an identification card. "Eriksson Trieasta," he murmured, savoring the name. "Eriksson Trieasta, thank you very much." His gaze remained cold as he stared out onto the street, still battered by the golden fog and relentless rain.

Yet as Eriksson continued down the road, Elliot felt a wave of immense pain radiate from his head. It was as if a jackhammer were smashing into his skull. "Arghhh!" A sound escaped his lips, but no one heard him; Eriksson kept moving through the frigid rain. Damn it, not again! In a flash, reminiscent of his experience with Aston, the blue-blooded man, Elliot was engulfed in agony and bombarded by fleeting images. They flickered before him, indistinct and rapid, yet one stood out—a small child chained in utter darkness, surrounded by dried blood.


CREATORS' THOUGHTS
bloody_potato bloody_potato

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!

next chapter

Chapter 11: Past

Elliot's eyes reddened, veins bulging like fish breaching the surface of water. With clenched teeth, he continued to stare, his eyes wide open despite the burning sensation—far worse than shampoo stinging his eyes. He squeezed them shut just enough to keep seeing. Rapid, fleeting images cascaded through his mind. A young boy with orange hair and green eyes raced across fields, sometimes under warm sunlight, sometimes in the rain. The leaves transformed from vibrant green to shades of orange and yellow before falling to the ground. Day turned to night, only to give way to snow that came and went just as swiftly. Again and again, the child laughed as he ran, like a glider soaring through the ripened fields and over the earth, his smile and genuine laughter never fading.

"Catch me if you can!" shouted the orange-haired Lennard, breathless with exhilaration. "You're way too slow!" another child called out, panting even harder. He was smaller and slighter, yet he bore a striking resemblance to Lennard.

More rapid-fire images followed, this time in an even faster sequence. A family gathered in a modest little house, bathed in warm shades of orange and brown. They sat together at a table reminiscent of nobility, sometimes enjoying stew, at other times more stew. Their postures and expressions shifted every second, yet they were always content, whether there was meat or not. Father, mother, brother, and Lennard himself—they were a family, bound together by love.

Days morphed into nights and vice versa. But soon, Lennard was once again racing through the fields. The harvest was ripe, and his brother Max sprinted alongside him, grinning widely. They ran and ran, the fields blurring into the distance as the roads drew closer. They were in a small, remote village in Elitra, a place of beauty. On rainy days, sunny days, at night, and during the day, whether amidst wind, storms, or other tribulations, the scenery was always captivating. Neighbors greeted the eager little boys as they hung laundry or took leisurely strolls.

But this time, no one was there. Only the wind whispered through the streets and the flapping clothes. Windows and doors stood ajar, yet the playful boys continued to buzz their lips as they raced like gliders. Their innocence and ignorance began to fade when they found themselves standing before their own home. The door was open, but no one was inside. Panic etched Lennard's face, and with a mere tilt of his head, the world around him seemed to spin. Elliot watched as the little boy collapsed, only to hastily awaken again, gasping in darkness, a desperate need for air choking him.

Water surrounded him, accompanied by the sound of derisive laughter echoing in the shadows. As the darkness faded, Lennard found himself bound to a chair, drenched, his gaze fixed ahead. Grief, rage, remorse, bitterness—every emotion flickered in Lennard's eyes. Perhaps they mirrored Elliot's own feelings as he observed, horrified and disgusted. But even more, Lennard stared with empty eyes at the corpses, drained of blood, piled around him.

It was everyone from the village he knew—his neighbors, the baker, the priest, acquaintances, friends, and his family. His father, mother, and brother lay stacked together, their eyes wide open—some gazing into the distance, others directed at Lennard. Again, Lennard was enveloped in darkness; soon, not only his vision but also his ability to breathe vanished. Water poured over a cloth pressed against Lennard's face, but flickering images danced in Elliot's view.

Suddenly, he heard the child's screams. Blood poured from Lennard's forearms—green blood, but much more orange blood. The men, obscured in black coverings, laughed hysterically. The flickering intensified as the men spoke. "We have enough blood." Elliot saw Lennard again, alone and drenched in dried blood, bound in the dark room. His gaze remained cold and vacant, fixed on the lifeless bodies piled around him like sacks of rice.

Lennard trembled and sweated in fear, yet his eyes were always fixed on a single point. Finally, Lennard's eyelids fluttered shut. Elliot felt at a loss for words, his heart heavy with compassion as he lowered his gaze. The scene shifted and hissed, drawing Elliot's sight back to Eriksson, the future Lennard. With a straight, cold stare, he continued walking through the gradually fading rain, his eyes focused ahead, further and further until he approached a larger area.

There were train tracks, signs bearing names of distant cities, and a dark, dry stillness, interrupted only by a loud voice echoing in the distance. "The next Ten-Day train to the Kingdom of Zentria, passing through Nigil and Foen, will depart in half an hour from Platform 5!" Following the voice, Eriksson turned toward it but did not approach the figure in a dark blue suit. Instead, he walked toward a small booth with a woman seated inside.

With a glance exchanged, the light brown-haired woman smiled at Eriksson, who offered no such expression in return. "How can I assist you, sir?" After a brief pause, he replied, "A ticket for the Ten-Day train to the Kingdom of Zentria."

The ticket seller glanced at a slip of paper. "First, second, or third class?" After another silent exchange, Eriksson stated, "Third class." His shoulders remained straight, his gaze fixed. The woman added, "That will be 9 Cont and 2 Celi."

As Eriksson reached into his wallet, he pulled out an Elis note, handing it over. The change returned to the woman was 8 Celi. Eriksson pocketed the coins and headed toward Platform 5, biding his time until the train would finally arrive.

Lynn Street 16, at the Corner of the Monument to the Goddess of Night

Elliot awoke with drool trickling down his cheek, his eyes heavy with sleep as he rubbed them awake. Slowly turning his head, he realized he was back at Edwin and Samantha's home. So these visions hardly rob me of sleep, he thought with a reassuring yawn. But it certainly wasn't enough rest…

He held his hand before his eyes, noticing a dark blue, almost black shadow looming over him. It was the familiar blue sun shining in a turquoise sky. A glance to his side revealed a small basket containing a note and some bread. However, as Elliot, who hadn't eaten in a while, picked up the piece, he discovered it was rock hard. He sighed, muttering to himself as he reached for the basket, "Morning routines… First, shopping, then washing, and finally work…" With another sigh, he set off, the atmosphere cold under the dark sky and blue light, the golden moon long since vanished.

In about three-quarters of an hour, he arrived at the shop and met Gene again, purchasing something lighter this time: a box of Foenician cornflakes, a carton of milk, and a pack of Avelornian black coffee. His five Cont coins quickly turned into four Cont and five Celi, and the first part of his morning routine was complete. Now, he was on his way to the public bath, chewing the hard bread with a grimace, a spot of mold threatening to appear on one side, yet he kept his gaze fixed ahead. His bandaged hand was almost healed, and his shoulder felt better, as did the rest of his body. Is this the effect of the blue blood? If so, I need more… much more. Ren, I'll see you soon! Elliot thought as he continued to devour the stale bread.

Upon arriving, he looked around, feeling something odd. The bath was open, and a few others of his kind were inside, but what made him furrow his brow was a large clock hanging above the entrance. It was plain and old-fashioned, painted black, with a large hand hovering between the 6 and 7, pointing at the third small tick mark between them. This wasn't digital, as Elliot was used to; it was a type that hadn't been in use for perhaps the last twenty years. Roman numerals adorned its face, but what perplexed Elliot most were the numbers. Why only from 0 to 16, with double the space between 16 and 0 compared to the other numbers?

He tilted his head slightly as he stared at the clock, muttering under his breath, Damn it, that's why I didn't get enough sleep! He continued to stare intently, searching for higher numbers than 16. No! This can't be! I've been working for hours, probably eight of them. Add in the commute and the other errands I have to run for Edwin and Samantha… Elliot's mouth fell open slightly as he kept his gaze fixed on the clock. If I need about an hour for shopping and probably another half-hour for washing, and if I leave for work around 16:00, then I'll have no time to do anything to free myself from this place…

Just then, from not too far away, Elliot heard someone calling his name, "Elliot!" Moments later, he felt a nudge on his shoulder. "So you're finally going to clean yourself up! Sorry, I should have told you sooner, hehe."

"Gene?" Elliot looked at him, puzzled.

"Yes, that's me, hehe." Elliot's shoulders sagged slightly as Gene placed a hand on them, reading the concern in his eyes. "Is it the clock?"

Elliot glanced away, then replied, "Yes…"

With a deep sigh, Gene met his gaze. "You know what? I'll just tell you, but this is the last time—after this, it'll cost you, got it? So, on Earth, a day was 24 hours. But you have to understand that we were trapped under a dome on the continent of Earth. More accurately, Earth is just a continent within a massive mountain, which has been exploited to create everything artificially. Everything above us—holograms, the sun, the moon, the entire sky—day or night. This allowed the cycle to be adjusted to the calendar of this world, Hemorion. On Earth, there were always 24 hours in a day, seven days a week, with either 30 or 31 days in a month, totaling 365 days in a year. That was nice for us since we could sleep longer and generally had more time during the day. But here, it's a bit different. Each day has exactly 16 hours, 46 minutes, and some dozens of seconds, 40 if I'm not mistaken. A week consists of exactly 10 days, and the months, of which there are a total of 10, have either 52 or, less frequently, 53 days. When you do the math, that means a year has precisely 522 days, which is far more than on Earth."

Elliot stared at him in astonishment, his shoulders drooping as the back of his head touched his neck. Gene added with a suppressed laugh, "Sorry for bombarding you with all this information, Elliot, but there's more. The more blood you have in your bloodstream that isn't red, the less sleep you need. Also, not every day has 16 hours and 46 minutes; instead, each first day of a month, along with the moon's color change, alters the day's length. If I remember correctly, the first day of every month always lasts 16 hours, 15 minutes, and a few seconds."

Out of breath, Gene looked at Elliot. "Anything else? Of course, for a price, hehe."

With somewhat relaxed shoulders, Elliot glanced one last time at the clock. "Not really. I just wonder, if you know so much and you mentioned you get paid in certain blood, do you have a plan to free yourself? I mean, is there any way to escape your bonds through your contract with your mistress?"

Gene shrugged in response. "Honestly, I have no plan. I doubt it's even possible. There aren't even any real reports of people who have freed themselves."

Feeling somewhat dejected, Elliot replied, "Still, thank you." As Gene began to walk away, Elliot watched him go, musing, "So no one has managed to escape so far, but that doesn't mean it's impossible…"


CREATORS' THOUGHTS
bloody_potato bloody_potato

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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