In a dark, desolate room, where the only sounds were the chattering of teeth and the distant weeping of others, Elliot lay on the cold stone floor, drenched in sweat. His pupils remained wide open, though this time, it was from the overwhelming darkness. The stench in the air was suffocating—a mixture of burnt flesh and rotting remains that had decayed for weeks. As Elliot moved, his hand brushed against something hard, then something soft, crawling creatures—maggots. It was a pit of skeletons and flesh-bound husks, their souls long departed. Piles upon piles, but too dark to discern any details.
The room stretched endlessly, cold stone walls surrounding him like a medieval prison. His mind raced. What happened? I was just with Pillar, my money... I was on my way to Edwin and Samantha. How did I end up here?!
Elliot trembled, his clothes soaked with blood—both red and blue. He could hear the sounds of others, similarly trapped in cells scattered across the room. A chilling breeze blew through every few seconds, cutting through the oppressive silence, broken only by the faint sobs and the sound of chattering teeth.
Creaaak!
Suddenly, a door creaked open. The orange-yellow glow of an oil lamp pierced the suffocating darkness, casting a faint light across the room. A figure stepped through the doorway—a woman, strikingly beautiful with an eccentric air. She had blue hair, smooth skin, and wore a tight, elegant blue dress.
Elliot's pupils dilated further, struggling to adjust to the sudden brightness. Who is she? he wondered. As his vision cleared, he saw the woman's cyan eyes gleam in the dim light, her pupils completely gone. The living prisoners, driven mad with hunger and desperation, lunged forward, their heads poking through the bars of their cells, trying to reach her.
They all screamed in unison, a collective cry of desperation. "Please, let me out! Let me go with you! I beg you!"
What is this madness? Elliot thought, his mind swirling. He was surrounded by those howling, their faces contorted in hunger. He watched as one man next to him stretched out a hand, his voice hoarse with need. "Let me sit on your lap! Please, I can't live without you!"
Others joined in, their cries overlapping as they fought to get closer to the woman. No! She's mine! You filthy animal, get away!
The woman, her cyan eyes gleaming with amusement, raised a finger to her lips. "My, what impatient little creatures you are. Do you really want to be with me so badly?" she mused aloud.
The prisoners, including Elliot, nodded eagerly, their voices a chorus of pleading. "Yes! Yes! Please, let us come to you!"
With a playful smile, the woman began to count aloud, "One, two, three... and you will come with me." Her lips curved into a smile that seemed far too perfect, too detached from the desperation around her.
The hunger in the room intensified. One prisoner, overcome with desire, reached desperately for the woman, his eyes gleaming with the madness of a starved animal. He was the first to break through the frenzied cries, and he ran toward her, arms outstretched. His words, like a prayer, spilled from his mouth, "I'll die for you! Please, take me!"
Crack!
The sudden, grotesque sound of breaking bones shattered the air. The man's neck twisted at an impossible angle, and before Elliot's eyes, his head flew from his shoulders, hurtling straight toward him. Blue blood sprayed over Elliot's face, coating him in the mess. A sickening lump formed on his forehead from the impact of the head, and the man's neck left purple bruises from where it slammed into the bars of his cell.
But Elliot smiled. A twisted, giddy smile.
Yes! He's dead! Finally! Elliot thought, his mouth now stained with blue blood. Yes! Yes! Thank you! Thank you so much!
Creaaak!
The door slammed shut, and the woman's presence vanished, leaving only the lingering cries and chattering teeth. Elliot's pupils shrank back to normal as the light from the door faded, leaving only the oppressive darkness. But it was not the same darkness as before. It now seemed colder, heavier, as though the very air had become suffocating.
The silence returned with a vengeance, broken only by the distant sobs and the occasional sharp sound of chattering teeth. The others who had not been chosen, including Elliot, were left in an unbearable void of yearning and fear. But Elliot's gaze fell upon something in the corner of his cell, something that made his stomach turn. He couldn't make out the details clearly, but he could see the shape of a head, its eyes wide open. Blue blood streamed from its skull, pooling on the ground beneath it. The eyes rolled upward, an eerie grin on the face of the corpse.
Elliot recoiled, a chill running down his spine.
Then, as quickly as the sight had appeared, it was gone. And he was left in the dark once more.
…
In the dark void, Elliot took a deep breath. His eyes opened wide for a moment, then closed as he tried to steady himself. What is happening? His thoughts were a whirlwind of confusion and anger. What the hell is going on here?
But as the darkness seemed to stretch endlessly around him, he noticed something—there was a faint yellow glow in the distance, pushing through the darkness. A light? he thought, almost disbelieving.
He moved toward it, hands trembling, but with an oddly optimistic resolve. The yellow light felt warm, like the promise of something better. The blue light flickered faintly in the distance, and the green flame seemed to dance weakly.
Elliot placed his hand on the rough, yellow stone, and with a sharp gust of wind, the room was filled with more light. He shielded his eyes with his other hand as the wind swirled around him.
…
On the continent of the Violet Seas, amidst a battlefield where the yellow and violet forces clashed in an endless struggle, the Imperial Base 2456 stood firm, its iron walls standing in the face of relentless warfare.
Fynn sat on a medium-sized stone, his legs dangling freely in the air. His left leg swung slightly, less vigorously than his right.
"You know, kid, if you were of a lesser bloodline than ours, you'd probably have been dead by now. A few more days, maybe weeks, and you'd have been out of the picture," Algar, a burly man with long blond hair and the rugged appearance of a Viking, said, laughing heartily.
"Then I wouldn't be in such bad shape," Fynn replied, his voice low.
"Oh, 'bad shape'? These are badges of honor from the battlefield! Not many can proudly walk around with just one eye, here on the Violet Seas!" Algar grinned, his laughter echoing through the tense air. Fynn's eyes narrowed, but he said nothing.
"Elliot," he muttered under his breath, glancing briefly at the conversation unfolding before him. So he's okay now…
Algar continued, his tone now serious. "I've heard you're wise, without a state rank."
"That's true. My parents ran away when I was young, left me behind at Base 2462. I never had a chance to get registered... without their status, I was just... alone." Fynn's words hung heavy in the air.
Algar studied him for a moment before running a hand through his thick Viking beard. "Kid, how would you like to join my family? My daughter needs to marry soon, and for my taste, you'd be perfect for her. I'd trust you with her."
Fynn froze, his face going pale. "Marry your daughter...? Algar, I'm not the right one. Look at me—my eye, my leg. I'm not even pretty."
Algar laughed loudly, shaking his head. "Kid, you're more than perfect for her, especially after what you just said. So, what do you say? Want to join the Astor family? I must tell you, I am a part of the Astor family," Fynn's legs and voice trembled even more.
"Astor...? The Astor family? The one of the three high-ranking families that oversee the Titans and the Asphanium, the Astor family?" Algar nodded, a grim smile tugging at his lips. Fynn's face turned pale once again, and after a long pause, he finally uttered, "Yes." Algar lightly slapped Fynn's injured leg. "Then from this moment, your name will be Fynn Astor." Fynn's vision blurred, the light swallowed by the endless abyss of darkness, a profound emptiness.
…
Fring Street 95, headquarters of the Blue Sharks.
Three figures—William, Elisia, and Elton—sat across from one another. Chris was on another mission, one dealing with the disappearance of several men. Elisia sighed deeply, her dark blonde hair falling behind her ears. "Elliot has disappeared too. By the Nine Gods... What does all of this mean? This V... This man with the violet eyes who defeated him. Bill... I thought it was over already, but no. Instead, it all starts again, and now it's Elliot's turn."
A heavy silence descended over the room, the walls painted blue by the light of the setting sun. The wind outside howled, brushing against the windows. Elton lowered his gaze to his knees, while William slammed his fist onto the table. "We can't lose another one of us—not like we lost Bill or Simon. Not in this way..."
…
In the dark dungeons, somewhere beneath the earth.
"It's time. We need another sacrifice, Y." A small man spoke, barely reaching 1.50 meters. His humped back overshadowed his wrinkled face, with a long nose and hair as blue as the shade on his scalp. It was mostly gray, his hair receding almost to the point of baldness. "Of course, Father," a woman replied elegantly, holding an oil lamp in her left hand as she walked through the lightless dungeon.
Elliot, along with the other prisoners, began to stir. Their pupils dilated, their bodies growing in size as their minds awakened. The other prisoners, except for the old man and the woman, began to rattle their cages, clanging against the bars that separated them. They screamed like wild animals. "Let me to you! I can't live without you! My life is meaningless without you!" Some of them wept, overwhelmed with sorrow. Others screamed out of envy. And some remained silent, holding on to hope.
The cells began to open, while others remained locked. Elliot was one of the fortunate ones whose cell was opened. Yes, yes! My prayers have been heard! Praise the Nine Gods, no... Praise the Goddess of Blue! Elliot's face contorted in a disturbing expression, tears streaming down his cheeks. "Thank you, thank you. I love you." He rushed out of the cell, his knees trembling. The woman, Y, walked ahead of him, with the old man following closely behind. She made a Y with her fingers, forming a straight line, like a pair of scissors closing. But instead of cutting paper, blue blood sprayed from the side, splattering across the prisoners, including Elliot.
"Y, do not go with them unless there is use for you. They too are scarce as a resource." It was the blood of a man—decapitated, his head flying off like the cork of a wine bottle. Yet, all those following the two blue-haired figures laughed, their eyes glued to the elegant body of the woman.
"This vermin should not receive the mercy of the Goddess of Blue." The old man shook his head. "Sinners are sinners. Yet, in death, they are all the same. They should be granted the opportunity to wash away their sins. Y, my youngest. You still have much to learn."
The old man glanced forward while the woman looked down, her luscious blue lips twitching. Elliot and the others hurried after them, passing by the corpse of the man whose head had exploded. They entered the warm orange-yellow light, but the atmosphere of the room shifted as quickly as the temperature. It grew cold—eerily cold, tinted in blue. But, oddly enough, it wasn't cold—it was too warm.
"Children," the elegant woman spoke, her voice smooth yet chilling, "your sins will be washed away. But first, you must repent and suffer for the Goddess of Blue. Only then will you be permitted to die and enter the Palace of Blue."
Her hands were raised, forming a Y with her fingers, her posture striking and regal. Her eyes shone with a cyan light, her voice a soft command. "Surrender yourselves to the will of the Goddess of Blue!"
With a final cry, she offered a gentle smile, a flame igniting—blue as the sun. The room grew unbearably hot, the temperature rising, reaching unbearable levels. In an instant, the prisoners' nails began to melt, their skin dissolving into nothingness. Flesh over veins and organs, their eyes wide, pupils stretching across the entire eye, turning into pitch-black voids.
In a room that was once clean, five men stood. Each was without skin, their bodies hairless, their faces scorched. They appeared identical, their only difference being their physique and size. The only distinction between Elliot and the others was that his body had turned red, while the others remained blue.
They stood silently, the flames gone, their black eyes fixed upon the elegant woman. Their mouths stretched wide, the grin so large it seemed to split their faces, their teeth bared like a grotesque grin. Blood sprayed from their bodies, yet they all smiled—no, they laughed, their hunger for something far darker than life itself was evident in their eyes.
Y spoke, her blue nail resting upon her full, blue lips. "Well, that was the appetizer."
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!
"Y, you still haven't finished your illusion." The old man looked at Y with a neutral expression, casually chewing the air with his mouth. "Forgive me, Father," Y responded with a slight bow, her voice barely above a whisper. In an instant, nothing seemed to change, but in the next, the five flayed, burned men began to scream in agony. Their teeth were still visible, and some bones could be seen beneath their flesh. Their cries echoed, their eyes shedding blue blood, except for Elliot, whose blood was red.
They trembled uncontrollably, their bodies writhing as they began to run, only to collapse onto the ground. They screamed in torment, their eyes flickering with the flickering of their souls, until the first two passed out from the unbearable pain. Seconds stretched into eternity as their bodies contorted, the pain racking their limbs, each tendon taut with anguish. They could not escape the searing torture; every movement was met with pain. Soon, the third man closed his eyes, his body succumbing to the agony. Only two remained, their eyes still open, locking onto each other in shared suffering.
Elliot's gaze shifted, turning from the burning blue of the others' eyes to something more unsettling: a desolate green. The pain was no longer physical; it was something far deeper. His vision blurred, his mind swirling in a vortex of confusion. Ren, I must get to Ren... just a few more days... I must get my blood back into my body!
The blood, once pooling around Elliot in a grotesque display of crimson defiance, began to retreat with agonizing slowness. It ebbed as if summoned by some unseen force, seeping back into the jagged wounds from which it had emerged. The process was neither clean nor seamless. Threads of coagulated fluid clung stubbornly to the edges of his torn skin, stretching and snapping like cursed sinew as the liquid inched its way home.
His thoughts echoed in his skull like a distant, fading whisper. His eyes shimmered, growing unfocused. Only two figures remained, their shapes indistinct, like reflections in a rain-drenched puddle, flickering and dissolving.
Elliot clenched his teeth weakly, the effort insignificant in the face of the insurmountable pressure. Ren, I am coming. I can do this. His hand reached out, but it was an empty gesture—no strength behind it. He fell back, exhausted, unable to keep his eyes open. Ren…
The old man chuckled softly; his voice laced with amusement. "Ah, someone has a great deal of endurance, don't they?" His grin was sharp, almost predatory. "Y, go ahead and hunt. I'll amuse myself here for a while." The elegant woman nodded silently, her blue hair flowing gently as she bowed. "Of course, Father."
Elliot, struggling to hold onto his fleeting consciousness, could feel his hearing fading. His vision was narrowing, and all he could do was stare ahead, fixating on the blue shoes of the old man as they moved away. But there was no hope. His eyelids closed on their own, despite his desperate attempts to keep them open.
Ren...
…
On the continent of the Violet Seas, amidst the imperial battlefield between the yellow and violet forces, at the base 2468.
Fynn stood before an immense door, towering several meters in height and width. The two guards at the entrance, with their long spears and containers filled with a yellow, almost golden liquid, moved in sync. They struck the ground twice, the liquid swirling through the spears as it cascaded, only to return to the containers in a seamless cycle. Like magic, the great gates opened. Fynn and Algar walked past the heavily armored guards. Their gear shimmered with a translucent yellow liquid flowing through it—Asphanium, the essence of life for the yellow, the resource of power and modernization.
The palace-like building that lay before them was magnificent, and Fynn was left in awe. His shoulders sagged, and his jaw hung loosely in disbelief. His usual blonde hair was neatly styled, his red right eye gleaming like a ruby, while his left was replaced by a vibrant yellow one. His yellow leg, encased in a matching suit, limped slightly behind, though with time, he managed to walk more steadily.
"Are you ready, little one?" Algar's voice was firm but reassuring, his posture as imposing as ever. "Don't be afraid. Breathe deeply and show your chest proudly." He gave Fynn a light slap on the back, a gesture of encouragement. They proceeded, their eyes locked in an intense stare, one red, the other yellow, as they entered the grand hall.
Inside, a dozen strangers sat around an enormous dining table, laden with lavish yellow meats and vegetables. The menu was sparse—only yellow foods, with no fruits in sight. The air was thick with the scent of rich, pungent food. An elderly woman with blonde hair, her yellow earrings jingling as she shifted in her seat, spoke in a rough voice, her eyes scanning Fynn. "And who is this, Algar?"
"The man of my daughter," Algar answered, his voice clipped and formal. The words seemed to hang in the air for a moment before they were met with a sharp retort.
"What?! No!" A young woman, furious, slammed her fist onto the table. Her silverware clattered across the surface as she stood, her face flushed with anger. "Father, you can't do this! I want Ergon, and only Ergon! Father, I hate you!"
A young girl, her eyes glowing with yellow flames, similar to those in Algar's gaze, wore a beautiful light yellow-and-white dress. Yet, it was ruined by the yellow sauce of meat splashed across it as she abruptly slammed her fist onto the table, rising to her feet. "Diana!" her father's voice echoed through the room. "Ergon is no good influence. He is neither sincere nor loyal. Ergon is just a boy with the privilege of wealth, and all he does with it is waste it on revelry!" Diana turned her back to him, her skin, like everyone else's, faintly glowing yellow.
"Diana Asphania Astor! Get back here right now!" A tense silence enveloped the room. Algar stiffened, and Fynn could only watch in confusion, wondering how this was going to play out. Well, this certainly ended on a good note, Fynn thought. Seems like she doesn't want to marry me after all. He glanced at Algar, whose expression remained calm as he smiled faintly.
"Don't worry. She's just... how shall I put it? Stubborn," Algar remarked nonchalantly.
...
Beneath the earth, in a dimly lit, sealed-off room, Elliot lay on a hard, uncomfortable surface. His skin, covered in a crust of dried blood, was bound by thick ropes. His eyes, which were open even in his unconscious state, reflected the faint light with an eerie shimmer. But everything around him was blurry, as if his vision had been stolen from him. He could barely focus, his mind in a haze, and the relentless itching beneath the crust of his skin made him feel like thousands of feathers were gently stroking his body. He rubbed at the spots where the ropes bound him, tearing through the hardened surface, and fresh red blood trickled down his limbs.
Damn it... Damn it... Damn it! What's going on here? Elliot gritted his teeth, frustration consuming him. His body trembled with what felt like an endless array of phantom pains. His pupils and irises flickered in and out of focus, as though his entire being was being pulled apart. He tried to turn his head to the left, but that was when the old man with blue hair entered the room.
"So, you're finally awake?" the old man croaked, his voice sharp but somehow filled with satisfaction. "I've waited two full days for you to come around, despite all the measures I took to keep you alive. But, as they say, new week, new opportunities. Your sacrifice will honor the Azure Goddess, and I shall remember it for eternity. Let's begin now, on the Day of Azure Breeze, and see how long you can endure."
Elliot gasped weakly, unable to make a sound, his vocal cords seemingly locked by the sheer force of his agony.
"But don't worry," the old man continued, his voice softening, almost as though trying to reassure him, "the Paradise awaits you. A place of peace. And with luck, you'll find a spot at the Goddess's side. Perhaps even she will grant you a place among the Seraphims."
The old man cleared his throat, lost in thought, then spoke again, more to himself than to Elliot. "But enough talk. Let us begin, shall we?"
The elderly figure hobbled toward Elliot, his posture bent in a way that suggested a lifelong burden had been carried. His once-thick blue hair had become thin and brittle, much like his frail body. He produced a syringe from his pocket and without hesitation, drove the needle into Elliot's chest. A sharp intake of breath followed, and as soon as the substance entered his veins, Elliot's body spasmed uncontrollably. His pupils dilated wildly, expanding and contracting as if the drug was igniting his very soul. His limbs jerked against the restraints, and his body trembled violently, as though it were being torn apart from the inside.
"This," the old man muttered, "is a sample of a substance known as Crystalium. A wondrous compound. It solidifies your blood, then reverts it to liquid every few minutes. For each minute, your blood will become as hard as steel, stretching and forming spikes. But don't worry, there won't be any internal bleeding, as the substance will dissolve and become thinner once again. It's agonizing, perfect for sinners."
The man clasped his hands together in front of his head, forming a triangle, his back hunched, as he muttered words of prayer. "My child, learn to accept the pain," he said with fervor.
Meanwhile, Elliot's body continued to convulse. His jaw clenched tightly, gritting his teeth in futile attempts to resist the pain. The torturous spikes, which were forming just beneath the skin, felt like a thousand needles piercing his flesh. His body writhed in agony, helpless as his flesh bubbled and peeled. His skin was covered in blisters, resembling the craters of a pizza, with blood dripping from each burst. Minutes dragged on, though Elliot could no longer tell how much time had passed. Was it hours? Days?
The pain was endless. Even in the moments of respite, where his body seemed to calm, it was only a cruel illusion. A moment of silence, before the next wave of pain would come crashing down on him. The dark room closed in on him, suffocating his thoughts, drowning his mind in a sea of agony.
In his fragmented moments of clarity, Elliot could hear the footsteps of the old man leaving the room, his figure retreating as he would return hours later, the syringe in hand to inject him with more Crystalium. The dosage increased with each visit, and the pain became worse. Every time Elliot seemed to lose himself, to drift away into the oblivion of death, the old man would return, injecting him once more to pull him back, making sure his torment never ended.
Elliot's body, battered and broken, was now a shell of the person he once was. His mind was on the verge of collapse, his body nearing the edge of exhaustion, yet he was kept alive through sheer force. The endless cycle of pain, the increasing doses, and the injection of unknown substances kept him tethered to the world, but there was no freedom, no escape. The thoughts of Ren, of his brother, faded. The pain had consumed all.
Time itself became irrelevant. What had felt like hours stretched into what could have been weeks or months. Elliot no longer knew. He could only stare into the darkness, his mind a blank void, as if the night itself had swallowed him whole.
He closed his eyes, or perhaps they had already been closed. Was he blind now, or was it simply the eternal darkness of his surroundings? He didn't care anymore. His body, broken and exhausted, had long since surrendered. His soul, too, seemed to have abandoned him, adrift in an endless sea of torment, forever waiting for something that might never come.
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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