Progenitor trying to match the Overloser

by scorvoltech

Oh, boy! What would you do if you suddenly got superpowers out of nowhere? Like, immortal-level, phenomenal power, where all you had to do was suck a little blood to stay on top of the food chain forever. Sound tempting, right? But wait—there's a catch! You'll be basically unstoppable, but only if you drink the blood of your fellow humans. So, question: can you live with yourself k

Prologue

What would you do if you suddenly got phenomenal power? Like, immortality and the ability to drink blood? You'd probably think you'd be the most invincible person on the planet, right? Well, that's exactly what I thought, too. But as it turns out, I'm just an absolute disaster.

So, let me start from the beginning. I died in WW3, right? Yeah, I was one of those soldiers who survived for a while. I mean, I wasn't exactly making headlines—more like a minor character in the war—because let's face it, I was barely holding it together. But I survived, which, by the way, was clearly the start of my greatness.

Then, boom—shell hits, I'm dead. No big deal, right? Just another soldier down. But no! I wake up in the middle of a field, confused, starving, and honestly just wishing I was dead again because this whole "life after death" thing is not all it's cracked up to be. I was weak, dizzy, and starving like I hadn't eaten in weeks, which, technically, I hadn't. So, like, that's fine. I'm pretty sure the hunger was part of the immortality process or whatever. Totally normal, right?

So, naturally, in my utter brilliance, I start stumbling through this grass field in search of food, because that's what immortals do. I'm the chosen one, I'm supposed to be strong and powerful. But instead, I trip. Hard. I'm talking full-on faceplant, like a cartoon character. But hey, I'm not just a loser. I'm a cool loser, so I pick myself up and tell myself, "That was just a practice fall. A warm-up for what's coming next."

I finally catch a whiff of smoke. Smoke = people, right? And people = food, which is all I care about. I mean, I'm literally starving here, so I start running toward the smoke. Or, well, more like stumbling toward it. I run like a kid trying to chase an ice cream truck but instead of looking cool, I just look like I'm about to fall over and faceplant again. At this point, I'm really questioning why this immortality thing isn't as glamorous as it seemed.

Anyway, I reach the camp, and there's a father and daughter. They're just chilling by the fire, probably telling stories or whatever. And then they look at me, and I look at them, and it's like the world pauses for dramatic effect. But instead of being all intimidating and godlike, I awkwardly shuffle my feet, trying to look intimidating but failing miserably. I'm wearing rags and probably have dirt smeared on my face. Great start.

But you know what? This is it. I've got power, so I'm not going to let my awkwardness stop me. I'm going to feast. But instead of gracefully swooping in like some dark lord, I trip again. Like, I literally faceplant again as I lunge at the father's throat. And instead of sinking my fangs into him like a vampire overlord, I miss and bite into his shoulder. It's not even the neck! I'm basically just gnawing on his shoulder like a weird, starving animal.

I pull back, mortified, but then I remember—I've got this. I've got immortality, right? This is supposed to be my time. So, I just bite harder, hoping that will make up for my earlier mistake. But instead of the glorious rush of blood I was expecting, it's more like I'm choking on it. It's everywhere. It's a mess. I'm literally drowning in blood and gagging, but I can't stop. This is me, right? I'm powerful, even though I'm basically just making a mess.

Eventually, I somehow manage to finish the father off, and then I stumble over to the daughter. I mean, what's the worst that could happen now? I'm already a mess, so why not make it worse? So, I pounce on her, but in my excitement—guess what? I trip. Again. And instead of this being some heroic "kill of the century," I end up tackling her to the ground in the least dignified way possible.

But here's the kicker—she starts screaming. And I'm just like, "Hey, stop! I'm the immortal here! You should be afraid!" But no. She keeps screaming, and I'm just sitting there awkwardly trying to get it together, all while looking like a bumbling idiot. In the end, I just give up and bite into her neck, but I'm so bad at it that I end up spilling half of her blood all over myself like some kind of clumsy mess.

Finally, after I've somehow killed both of them, I feel a rush of power, but also, like, an overwhelming urge to puke. I'm immortal, sure, but I'm just as pathetic as I was before, except now I'm covered in blood and so full of regret that I almost wish I were dead again. But I'm immortal, so there's no escape.

The worst part? I'm still hungry. I mean, I literally just drank two people's blood, and I still feel like I could eat an entire buffet. What is wrong with me?

So, I just walk away—well, more like trip over my own feet—and then I tell myself, "Yeah, this is fine. Totally fine. I've got this power under control. I'm basically the king of the night. It's like... immortality but with a bit of clumsiness. Nothing can stop me now... except maybe stairs. And my own legs."

And thus, the glorious first chapter of my immortal life began. Oh yeah, I'm a vampire, but let's be honest, I'm probably the worst one that's ever existed. The most powerful creature on Earth? Nah. More like the biggest screw-up in history. But hey, immortality's still immortality, right? At least I'm not dead, even though everything I touch seems to die. Like my dignity. It's totally alive and well... somewhere.

The next day, I did what any self-respecting vampire would do: hide from the sun. Seriously, I should've come up with a cooler way to do this, like a dramatic shadowy cape flourish or something, but instead, I just crouch behind a rock and groan like a failed magic trick.

It's been 12 hours. I'm badly burned. I smell like burnt toast. But then, boom, the sun finally sets and I think, "Alright, time to hunt. Time to prove that I'm not a complete failure."

Cue me accidentally tripping over a bush.

"Yep, definitely in control," I mutter as I continue to awkwardly crawl through the woods.

Eventually, I stumbled across a group of bandits. Perfect. They'll be my first proper meal. This will be my big moment. Except... let's just say things didn't go according to plan. Remember when I said I was a vampire? Yeah, I was more of a dazed, hungry, semi-immortal confused mess. I couldn't bite properly, like my fangs were malfunctioning or something.

"I'm definitely in control," I say again, this time through clenched teeth, as I fumble around trying to... well, do anything with my new powers.

The bandits are looking at me like I'm a confused puppy, and I'm pretty sure at one point, one of them offered me a snack. I just nodded, thinking, "Yeah, this is fine. I just need to get my vampire groove back."

And after several awkward minutes of me struggling to drink their blood and also accidentally drinking some dirt in the process, I finally felt it—power. Well, more like a mild buzz. But I was alive... and in the most ridiculous way possible.

Days passed, and I kept stumbling around. I mean, I had to hide from the sun (don't want to end up like a crispy mess), and each night I tried to figure out what the hell I could do with this whole "immortal" thing. Turns out, being a vampire is mostly about being really, really good at failing spectacularly.

At one point, I decided to test my ability to turn into a bat. Sounds easy enough, right? I mean, bats are small, light, and have wings. I just focus, and—nothing. I try again and—poof—and I turn into what I can only describe as a floppy, flying potato. Like, if potatoes had wings and could make terrible squeaky noises. I mean, you'd think immortality would come with some basic bat transformation lessons.

"Okay, okay," I tell myself, "Let's try something less complicated, like... blood manipulation. That's gotta be easy, right? Vampires are known for that. I've got this!"

So, I focus, concentrate hard, and... instead of summoning a slick, intimidating blood weapon, I accidentally make the blood in my hand do a little dance. Like, just a little blood ballet. It pirouetted for a good five seconds before splatting on the ground in defeat. "Yeah, I meant to do that. Totally... stylish."

At this point, I've just accepted it. I'm the vampire that's too awkward to do anything right, but hey, at least I'm still technically immortal, right? I can't die from blood loss... even though I'm currently making things way more complicated than they need to be.

---

So, eventually, I figured out some so-called tricks. You know, like blood armor. Yeah, that's right. I finally managed to make my own blood do something useful. Took me about three weeks of failing spectacularly and almost dying a dozen times. But hey, I nailed it! For like, a hot second, I looked like a total badass, covered in this shiny blood armor. Cue dramatic pose.

So, I was trying to be all cool and vampire-y, right? You know, like those badass bloodsuckers you see in movies. I figured, Hey, I got this. I made my blood armor, feeling all smug and important. I was gonna be unstoppable—until I tripped over my own feet. Yup, there I was, sprawled out in a mud puddle like an absolute clown, my blood armor gleaming in the moonlight... but also covering me in dirt. So much for being a sleek, intimidating creature of the night. More like the world's most embarrassing mess.

Anyway, I pulled myself up, wiped the mud off, and told myself, "Alright, no big deal. This is fine." Yeah, sure. Who am I kidding? This was like watching someone try to cook a steak and ending up with a burned toast instead.

The next day, I decided to try again. Blood magic? I got this. I called up my "Blood Knights"—basically, some blood golems I made because... well, I was bored and thought it'd be fun to play God. They were just... blobs of blood with arms and legs, like the wettest, sloppiest action figures you could imagine. They didn't have personalities or anything; they just stood there, probably wondering what kind of idiot would summon them.

And then, because I had no idea what I was doing, I sent them out on patrol like I was some kind of military genius. Spoiler alert: I wasn't. They just kind of... wandered off, bumping into trees, and looking confused. It was like a bad parade where no one was in sync.

By the time I realized I wasn't really in control of them, I had already used up all my magic. And you know what that means? My blood army—which should've been a terrifying force—just kind of... melted into puddles on the floor. I mean, seriously, what kind of loser summons an army and then watches it dissolve like it's a wet tissue?

But did I give up? Nope. I wasn't that kind of loser. I decided to hunt down some bandits. Yeah, real tough guy stuff, right? Except instead of being all sneaky and mysterious, I was like a walking disaster, slamming into trees, tripping over roots, and getting my foot stuck in every damn hole in the forest. You could hear my every move. I was the loudest vampire in existence.

Eventually, I caught a few bandits. Not because I was good, but because they were even worse at this than I was. They probably thought I was some kind of pathetic animal, and they were right. When I got them down, though, I figured, "Hey, I'm finally doing something right!" That lasted... oh, about 30 seconds, before I accidentally stabbed myself with my own blood sword. Yeah. That happened.

I don't know how I managed to become the worst vampire ever, but somehow, I nailed it. I mean, I had a couple of wins—like, I did kill a couple of bandits. But of course, it wasn't the cool, heroic kind of kill. No, I spent a full hour trying to find my sword, which I'd accidentally thrown five seconds earlier. It was under a pile of leaves. Classic.

So, after my little "adventure" of being the world's worst monster, I stumble into a bandit camp, all proud of my blood-stained, makeshift armor and blood-sword that totally looked like it belonged in a cheap horror movie. The entrance? Perfect, right? I trip. Faceplant. Right in front of the whole camp. A handful of bandits, a few women, some kids, and one old guy who looked like he just wanted to retire peacefully—yeah, they all watched me do a full-on nose dive into the dirt.

Did they look scared? Nope. They stared at me like, "This is the guy who's supposed to save us? The guy who trips over nothing?"

I could've died from embarrassment right then and there. I tried to act all menacing, all "I'm a terrifying, bloodthirsty monster," but I probably looked more like a kid who just lost a game of tag and was trying to salvage what little dignity he had left. My "badass" face was just covered in mud and dirt, and I didn't have enough cool to make up for it.

But, hey, I managed to kill a couple of bandits. Completely by accident, of course. One tripped into my sword while I was trying to get it out of the scabbard. The other just... walked into my "blood rain" while I was in the middle of awkwardly flailing around. I think they were just unlucky.

Anyway, after what I'm calling my "heroic" display of failure, I decided to let the rest of the bandits live, for no other reason than I couldn't be bothered to kill them. I didn't need the treasure—didn't even know what I'd do with it. And honestly, I had more important things to do, like finding clothes because, well, I was still naked and starting to feel like a walking, talking disaster.

So, I broke the chains of the captives, gave them some supplies, and felt a little heroic for a second. Of course, then I heard the kid. The one who was just standing there, staring at me with wide eyes.

I turned to him, trying to look cool, but I was still a mess. "You wanna say something, kid? I just saved your life, you know."

He just stared. For, like, a solid minute. No "thank you," no "wow, you're amazing." Just... staring at me like I was the world's biggest idiot. Which, let's be honest, I probably was. I tried again, "You want a medal or something? A high-five? A pat on the back?"

Still nothing. But then, he did this thing where he tilted his head and pointed to his neck. It was like... oh, he was asking for a bite or something. I stared at him. Really? This kid, standing there, probably starving and looking for a quick way out of his miserable life, was asking me to bite him? Like I knew what I was doing?

I looked around, half expecting someone else to jump in and explain how vampires worked. I mean, I didn't even know if I could turn people yet. Did I have to bite them and suck them dry? What was the protocol here? But the kid, the poor thing, just stood there with that desperate, pleading look.

I shook my head. "Kid, you don't want to be a vampire. Trust me. Look at me! I'm a disaster. I'm the worst vampire ever."

He still didn't say anything. Just kept looking at me like I was the solution to all his problems. Well, that was a little heartbreaking, honestly. Who the heck was I to make someone's life worse by turning them into... me?

So I did what any competent, totally unqualified vampire would do—I made an offer. "Look, kid, I'm not going to turn you. But maybe I can help you. If you really want to do this whole vampire thing... show me you're worth it. I'll think about it."

The kid blinked, still completely clueless about what the heck he was getting into, and I figured, why not? I wasn't exactly busy. I'd need some followers eventually. He could be... something.

"Fine," I said, and stuck out my hand. "You mix your blood with mine, and maybe you get a shot at becoming like me. But it's not a promise, alright? Just... you know, an idea."

The kid stared at my hand for a second before finally shaking it, sealing what could only be described as the world's worst deal. Honestly, I'm still not sure what he was thinking. Maybe he just wanted to get away from the mess that was his life. I mean, after all, if he didn't have any better ideas, why not follow the world's biggest screw-up?

So, that was it. I let the kid go. He was still alive, and maybe—just maybe—he'd come back in ten years with the audacity to ask me to turn him into a vampire. Or maybe he'd forget all about me and get a job at a bakery. Who knows? I didn't really care. I was just hoping I wouldn't mess up any more. Which, let's be real, is a pretty big ask when you're me.

Anyway, that was my day. The "Heroic Vampire" saga: not exactly a success story, but hey, at least no one else tripped over their own sword this time.

---

I remember the first time I saw him when I was a boy of seventeen. I was convinced he was some sort of unstoppable force—this towering, blood-splattered man who looked like he could eat my flesh and wear my skin as a jacket. He was everything I thought I wanted to be: savage, brutal, and totally unstoppable. And me? I was just a scared kid, watching this walking disaster unfold in front of me.

This guy—this hero—was supposed to be the stuff of legends, the kind of creature that would tear through armies like a hot knife through butter. I thought, "Yeah, this is it. This is the guy who will avenge my family, destroy the bastards who wiped out everything I knew." I was basically looking at him with stars in my eyes, imagining him being my new best friend. So, of course, I shook his hand and promised to follow him forever in this stupid blood pact thing.

"Great," I thought. "I'm now a hero's sidekick, about to embark on the most epic journey ever."

That was, of course, until I realized that my so-called "hero" was kind of... a mess.

---

With our pact sealed, I figured my destiny was set. I'd follow this guy, who in my head was a bloodthirsty monster, and we'd get revenge. Or, at least that's what I thought would happen. Instead, after I did the whole "blood pact" thing, the guy gave me a brief nod and then just... wandered off. No big speeches. No heroic speeches about our future adventures. Nothing. Just... off he went.

Me? I stood there for a while, wondering if maybe I missed something. But then I shrugged, and off I went, too. On my own journey now. That was a mistake.

The next few days were a blur of confusion, panic, and a lot of tripping over things. And I mean a lot of tripping. I had no idea where I was going. I just kept walking through forests and valleys, hoping something would make sense. And it did—sort of. I was looking for food, but mostly I just wanted to not starve to death while figuring out how to be a vampire. Spoiler: still didn't know how to be a vampire.

Then, the worst thing possible happened. My hero moments—yeah, those? They came crashing down. Big time.

The sun was going down, and I was like, "Alright, I'm definitely cool now. I've got this whole vampire thing under control." And then, just as I was admiring the sunset and basking in the melodious breeze (I'm not kidding, it was actually kind of nice), I heard it.

Crackle.

I froze. I could barely hear it, but something was off. My heart started racing because, of course, my life was about to become one giant disaster. I did the only thing I could think of—I summoned blood around me. Because, you know, that's what vampires do, right? Only… well, turns out, I don't actually know how to summon a proper blood barrier. So instead of some cool, impenetrable shield, I basically just ended up wrapping myself in a weak, wobbly mass of blood that looked more like a sponge than an impenetrable wall.

And guess what? It didn't work. Not even a little.

The next thing I knew, a dozen arrows slammed into my sorry excuse for a barrier, some of them piercing straight through. But hey, at least the arrows slowed down enough for me to dodge or let my crummy blood barrier absorb them. I wasn't dead. Yet.

I saw the attackers—really sneaky, ethereal-looking jerks. They moved like shadows, but honestly, they weren't that impressive. Not that I had any time to think about it because, surprise, I still didn't know what the hell I was doing.

I panicked. Full-on, red-faced, "I'm going to die today" panic. But, hey, at least I could still move fast enough to try and fight. Well, fight and fail.

I swung my sword in a total panic, missing the first assassin completely. They dodged my blade like it was a fly swatter. But then, I decided to get clever—I lunged. And—whoops—I missed again. But somehow, in my clumsy, chaotic flailing, I ended up taking the assassin's arm off. I didn't even mean to. But hey, small wins, right? I ripped his neck out while trying to look intimidating. But mostly, I just looked like I was out of breath from all the flailing.

The rest of the fight was a mess. I summoned blood spears, but they didn't spin. They just kind of hovered awkwardly like they weren't sure what they were doing either. And when I tried to use them, I got tangled in my own blood. Yes, my own blood.

By the time the second assassin fell (because I tripped him and then stepped on his head by accident), I was starting to wonder if maybe I'd gotten in over my head. But no time to think. I just kept swinging, hoping my wild swings would hit something. Eventually, they did. And I got through it. Sort of.

Then, when it was all over—when the battlefield was littered with bodies and the ground was slick with blood—I sat down. Totally wiped out. Because, you know, I just fought a bunch of near-invisible assassins with magic blood, and it wasn't nearly as cool as I imagined. My vampire instincts? Still... kind of a disaster. And don't even get me started on how I looked—probably like a toddler playing dress-up in a blood-soaked costume.

I tried to pull myself together, drank some blood to restore my energy or whatever the hell it's supposed to do. But honestly? Yeah, it didn't do anything. Sure, I wasn't about to collapse into a puddle of my own misery, but I still felt like absolute garbage. And the worst part? The whole time, I kept thinking, "Oh great, I'm definitely not cut out for this hero business."

So there I was, sitting in the middle of a mountain of bodies like the world's biggest loser, trying to figure out how the hell I was supposed to survive this "vampire" thing. If this is what being a hero is like, then I'm honestly shocked I haven't been fired yet.

And, to make matters worse, it turns out that my "legend" had spread way farther than I realized. The forest of Tob, apparently, was a huge deal—full of monsters and myths, and now I'm just another embarrassing footnote in that glorious history. Perfect.

These assassins? Yeah, they were sent by some super fancy noble guy from the human Empire. Apparently, I've been causing a lot of "drama" with all the whole "draining people dry" thing. What can I say? I was hungry, okay? But of course, it was all my fault—everyone else had to deal with me being an utter disaster.

The noble was fuming that I was still alive, and naturally, I had made zero effort to be discreet about any of this. I was less "stealthy vampire" and more "rampaging disaster who leaves a trail of bodies behind." People were talking—about drained corpses, a family mauled after surviving some demi-human attack, and of course, a group of deserters who mysteriously didn't survive my visit. Oops.

At that point, I was basically more monster than man. Subtlety? Not in my vocabulary. I was just... out here, doing whatever the hell I thought would work. And now, this noble guy had sent assassin after assassin after me because apparently I was the worst thing ever for his honor or whatever.

Anyway, I had zero intention of dying—mostly because I had no clue how to even die right. But sure enough, I found myself being hunted down for months. And I'm not talking about a casual "hey, we're just gonna look for you" kind of hunt. No, it was more like full-on, endless nightmare where a never-ending stream of assassins chased me. It was literally the worst season of Survivor imaginable.

I wasn't even winning at life, just barely hanging on by my teeth. But hey, at least I was alive, right? That counts for something?

I thought I was invincible after I took down a few bandits, but guess what? I wasn't. I got absolutely wrecked by some nasty hunters who managed to stab me in places I didn't even know could be stabbed. Lesson learned: being invincible isn't the same as knowing how to defend your stupid self. So, naturally, I decided to pick up sword fighting—because nothing screams "I'm desperate" more than learning a skill at the last possible second. And spoiler alert: I was awful at it. Seriously, it was embarrassing. I looked like a drunk raccoon trying to defend itself.

Then came the real fun part. A single hunter decided to teach me a lesson and nearly took my head off. It was... educational, to say the least. Every time I almost died, I learned something new. Mainly, how not to get annihilated in the process.

But hey, after a while, I started to pick up some new tricks, and suddenly, I wasn't just running away from danger—I was hunting those idiots down. They probably thought they were getting a break, but nope. They were just getting wiped out by me and my growing army of blood knights (which were mostly just guys I turned into zombies because, you know, I'm still not great at making decisions).

One by one, I took out the smaller hunting groups. I drank their blood, took their souls, and, for the first time in months, I didn't feel like I was just one wrong move away from becoming a bloodstain on the forest floor. I was starting to feel a little... invincible again. Which was, of course, a terrible idea because that's when I started believing my own hype.

And that's when my "legend" really started to take off. No longer was I "Blood Fiend"—now, I was "Blood Lord," "Lord of Crimson," and "King of Western Tob." Yeah. You heard that right. I'm King now, apparently. It's like someone gave me a crown made of bad decisions and embarrassment.

Now, the Human Empire was fully aware of me. They weren't just like, "Oh, a guy who drinks blood." No, they were like, "Okay, this dude has a small army of undead and can't die. He's a serious threat to our perfect little Empire." Which, you know, yay for me. Apparently, I wasn't just some random freak anymore. Now I was the "thing" to be afraid of. Classic.

And I have to say, I kind of suck at this whole "ruling" thing. I've got a bunch of undead minions who are, like, totally useless and an army that barely listens to me. But hey, at least I'm still alive... for now. Just don't ask me to do anything that requires being competent.

I had an army by then—well, an army of idiots who mostly stumbled around like they had no idea what they were doing. A thousand knights, to be exact, each group of a hundred doing their best to capture anyone dumb enough to wander into my territory. And I can't lie: I was not a great man during that time. In fact, I was the kind of man who'd accidentally spill soup on himself in the middle of a fight, or trip over a rock while trying to look menacing. But hey, I had an army, right? That's gotta count for something... even if my soldiers were about as effective as a bunch of wet noodles.

Cornered, boxed in, and constantly hunted from all sides, I spent five years as the Lord of Crimson—which, let's face it, is a title that's way more intimidating than I ever actually was. I mean, if you had seen me during most of those battles, you'd probably think I was some kind of tragic sitcom character, always at the wrong place at the wrong time. These players? Oh, they could kill me with a look—just one of them, one of the Six, and my entire existence would've been over. But nooo, they just kept letting me live, probably for the comedy value.

So yeah, it wasn't going great. The forest where I lived, my so-called "domain," was getting decimated. They weren't just chopping down trees; they were building castles to stop me from even thinking of pushing back. Who builds castles in the middle of a forest to fight one guy? Oh, that's right—the people who weren't laughing as much at my failures as I was. They were serious about it.

I don't even remember how many knights I had by the end. Five thousand? Six thousand? Honestly, by that point, it didn't matter. I wasn't even sure if I was fighting myself half the time. It was like my knights were mostly just there to help me not get immediately killed. But no matter how many of them I gathered, how many times I dramatically rose from the ashes of another failed battle, it was never enough. And that's when the Empire of the Six came. They were young, powerful, shiny, and had all the coordination of a military unit that knew how to actually fight and win.

Enter the hero. This young champion, who had somehow become famous by fighting demi-humans or whatever, marched into my territory like he was about to face the big bad villain of the story. Oh, I recognized him instantly. I knew this guy. This guy was definitely going to be the one to ruin my week.

But here's the thing—he and his army were expecting a showdown, but instead, they got... me. No grand castle. No army of invincible undead warriors. Just me, a handful of knights who still believed in me (for some reason), and a whole lot of confusion. We didn't even talk. Like, what's there to say? "Hey, I'm a loser, and you're probably going to beat me now"? Not exactly a great opening line.

And yeah, we fought. Him and his boys, against me and my totally-not-legendary knights. It was close, but close doesn't win you anything, and in the end, I watched as my knights got sliced down by this kid with a sword—not even a big one, just a regular sword. His dudes took down my last line of defense, and I knew it was over. The Lord of Crimson? More like the Lord of Being Completely Useless.

I'd learned my limits over the years, mostly from how many times I've almost died, and then gotten up only to mess things up again. This time, though? Yeah, my regeneration wasn't quite enough. He took my arm, stabbed me in the heart, and I went down, not even with a dignified death. No, I basically crumpled like a wet napkin in the rain.

And then, because I'm the worst, I pretended to die. You know, like how a true villain would. Except instead of, like, being heroic or dark, it was just embarrassing. Blood poured out of me like it was in the wrong place, and I played dead until my entire body was encased in it—basically making a blood prison around myself.

He buried me in a stone grave, which is so much more dramatic than it needed to be. Like, sure, you're the hero, you won, but really? A stone grave? I felt like I was getting a worse sendoff than a B-list movie villain. Oh, and he sealed me in with magic—so, you know, even though I could totally break out, I wasn't exactly doing it in the most heroic way.

Once I did get out (I always get out, I'm like a cockroach with a vendetta), I was not in a good state. I had one arm, I was starving, and I was walking like a zombie through the forest. I thought I had it all figured out though. "Time to reflect," I said to myself. Time to learn from my mistakes.

And then I realized, no—I was a complete idiot. All those people I'd killed? Those animals I'd drained? What was I even doing? I wasn't the man I used to be, that's for sure. Sure, I had been a soldier, but I'd been a pretty mediocre one. And now? Now, I was the "Lord of Crimson" who couldn't even get his own soldiers to do anything right. Everything I'd done was a mess, from the massacres to the blood baths, to the tragic spectacle of my own existence.

Honestly, it's a miracle I'm still alive—or at least not more embarrassed to be me.

I thought about my family—or more accurately, the family I had before I got myself killed in a war that wasn't my bussines, to begin with, only joined to make Pa proud. And then, of course, the first few weeks of my new life, which were mostly a series of embarrassing missteps and awkward interactions. Honestly, the only thing I was really good at was making everything worse. Even when I tried to reform, it was like watching a dog try to play piano—noble, but ultimately doomed to fail.

In my grand attempt to become some kind of "better person," I wandered through the woods like some sort of emo forest ghost, pretending I had my life together. The trees whispered their secrets, the wind gave me pep talks, and I glided through the forest, all self-important and mystical, except for the part where I kept tripping over roots and running into trees.

I spent three whole years doing this. THREE. And by the end, I still couldn't master the whole "don't eat people" thing. But hey, no one's perfect, right?

Then, out of nowhere, I stumble into a village—like literally stumble. I'd like to think I looked cool, but considering I had bat wings, horns, and claws because of some weird side effect of being a half-monster thing, I probably looked like a walking, flying nightmare. You know, the kind of thing that might get you a spot in a horror movie if it weren't for the fact that I could barely keep my balance.

I tried to be all suave and mysterious, introducing myself as "Imril, a humble traveler" when I was really just a weird guy trying to not bite anyone's face off. Miraculously, the elves let me stay, which was either a sign of their infinite tolerance or just the fact that they'd never seen anything as bizarre as me before. Honestly, probably the second one.

To make things worse (because, of course, everything had to get worse), some farmhand challenged me to a contest of strength. You'd think I'd be the last person they'd challenge, considering I was barely functional, but I'm not one to back down from a terrible idea. So I wrestled. And wrestled. And wrestled some more. By the end of it, I had destroyed the entire village's pride in one afternoon, proving that even a complete failure can accidentally break an elf's ego.

Naturally, they invited me to stay longer, probably because they thought I'd help with the harvest, not realizing that the only thing I was good at was breaking things. To my surprise, I actually stuck around for a few months. It wasn't so bad, though I was constantly fighting the urge to drain the life force out of people—because apparently, I'm that kind of vampire. But hey, at least I wasn't killing anyone, so there's a win, right?

That peace lasted... until winter. Yeah, winter. That magical time of year when everyone realizes they don't actually need a terrifying monster hanging around. I'd like to say I understood, but I wasn't exactly heartbroken—just more... cold? In more ways than one. They basically gave me the boot, but in a very polite, elf-like way, as if I didn't just eat all their food supplies for the winter.

Before I could leave, though, one of the little elves, Oraleios—adorable kid, by the way—came running after me, probably to beg me to stay. She tripped and scraped her knee in a spectacular display of grace, and as she bled, my vampire brain immediately went into "I should eat this kid" mode. Honestly, I tried to hold back, but it's hard to resist the sweet scent of magic-infused blood when you've been starving yourself for months.

Then the worst thing happened: I picked her up, trying to be all helpful, and she looked at me with the biggest, most innocent smile. I still remember her face. The face that haunted my dreams... and then proceeded to haunt her nightmares as I completely lost my mind. Before I knew it, I was biting her, draining her life force like a complete idiot.

I know, I know, that sounds terrible—but you have to understand, it was like a trainwreck. I couldn't stop. I couldn't think. I just... did it.

And of course, by the time I came to my senses (which, spoilers, was after I killed the entire village in a fit of hunger-fueled rage), it was way too late. There was no going back. I had turned a whole village of elves into a bloody mess. Two hundred elves. All gone.

So yeah, moral of the story: I suck at life. I'm the absolute worst. Every time I try to be a better person, I end up making it worse. I'm basically a walking disaster zone with wings.

And if that doesn't scream "buttmonkey loser," I don't know what does.

When I woke up the next night, I was once again a complete trainwreck. It was like my brain had taken a vacation, leaving nothing behind but a walking pile of bad decisions. One whiff of blood, and boom—monster mode activated. I was pretty sure I could get a medal for how quickly I'd gone from "semi-decent guy" to "carnage machine" at the slightest hint of a snack.

So, yeah, I went ahead and buried the bodies of the villagers that night. And by "buried," I mean I made a half-hearted attempt before I tripped over my own feet and face-planted into a ditch. The whole thing was less "tragic hero" and more "clumsy villain trying to clean up after himself." My eidetic memory is a gift, but sometimes I wish it didn't come with the added bonus of never forgetting their screams. Or their names. Or their life stories. Seriously, I could probably write an autobiography about this if I wasn't so busy spiraling into self-loathing.

At that point, I kind of threw in the towel on the whole "trying to be a hero" thing. Like, it was cute while it lasted, but it was clear I was about as far from a shining knight as you could get. I'd spent all this time thinking I could outsmart my monstrous nature, only to get a front-row seat to a horrific disaster. If there were awards for being an epic fail, I'd have a shelf full of trophies by now.

But then, just when I thought I couldn't mess things up more, I came up with a new plan. It wasn't so much a grand vision for the future, but more of a "hey, I'm really going to try not to kill anyone accidentally" sort of thing. Progress, right? At least I could promise myself—and the remaining survivors—that I'd try not to be a bloodthirsty idiot again.

Even now, I still hear their screams in my head whenever I try to sleep. But now it's just background noise, like a weird alarm clock that won't shut off. Maybe I'll get used to it. Or maybe I'll just sleep with a pillow over my face until it stops.

---

So, yeah, it turns out Elven blood is, like, really powerful, and guess who's a total mess whenever he smells it? That's right, yours truly. I couldn't handle it. So what did I do? I turned around and ditched my northward trek like a hot potato, because, clearly, I'm the world's worst planner. Westward ho, I thought, heading toward the land of Demi-humans. They're savage, sure, but at least they won't turn me into a puddle of self-hating goo with every whiff of blood. Or so I hoped.

Now, my previous "let's take my time and overthink everything" journey north was a bust. So this time, I went full-speed ahead, trying to outrun the existential crisis that kept hitting me like a freight train. No time for thinking about my miserable existence. I was too busy being mad at everything—myself included. Seriously, why stop to think when you can just run away from all your problems? That's a much healthier approach, right?

So, with my wings flapping and my legs doing the "I'm panicking and ignoring self-care" shuffle, I covered over a thousand miles in less than a week. I didn't stop for food, water, or a nap. Who needs those things? Certainly not me. All I needed was to feed and forget—forget everything I had done, forget everything I was. Yeah, that'll totally work... until it doesn't.

And then, like a genius, I thought, "You know what? If I just embrace my inner monster, maybe I'll feel better!" Because that's definitely the kind of logic that works out for me, right? Spoiler alert: it doesn't. But hey, I crushed that thought real quick. I wasn't about to let myself slide further down the "whoops, I'm a monster" hole. No, no, no. I had a new plan: be the worst version of myself and feed on the Demi-humans, but maybe—just maybe—don't kill everyone in sight. It's progress, I guess?

When I finally stumbled into the land of the Demi-humans, I expected something... impressive. Like cities or maybe a cozy little shack where I could sit down and sulk in peace. But nope. Just endless hills, forests, and plains that screamed "wild and untamed"—like a really bad camping trip. No civilization, just a lot of mud and questionable life choices.

From my vantage point high above (because I'm totally not lost in life), I saw everything. War? Check. Slavery? Oh yeah. Cannibalism? You bet. It was a disaster zone. If there was a worst-case scenario for a civilization, this was it. I couldn't even enjoy the chaos; I was too busy cringing at all the bad decisions people were making. But hey, at least it wasn't my problem, right? Right?

For a split second, I thought, "Well, maybe I could rule this disaster of a place!" I mean, I could be the king of the messed-up wilderness! But then, like the genius I am, I realized that ruling over a bunch of angry, bloodthirsty Demi-humans wasn't exactly my dream job. Nope. No thank you. I'd rather not add "dictator of a chaotic mess" to my résumé.

So, I did what I do best: observed. Watched the madness unfold. And after a week of dodging trees and trying not to get eaten, I realized something: these Demi-humans aren't all bad. Sure, they're savage, but they're not as hopeless as I thought. There's a lot of weird stuff going on—like tribes fighting each other, but also teaming up when it's convenient? Talk about mixed signals. I couldn't help but laugh. I was just watching the universe throw curveballs and waiting to see if I could dodge them.

And then, like a genius, I had an idea. "I know who I'm going after!" I said, slapping myself on the back for the brilliant plan. The criminals, the outcasts, the ones who were too bad even for their own people? Those were my targets. They were the ones who got kicked out, and now I was going to hunt them down. Not because I was feeling particularly noble, mind you—just because I had nothing better to do. Might as well be a monster with some semblance of purpose, right?

So yeah, I wasn't going to kill everyone. Just the really terrible ones. That's definitely a better plan than last time. Maybe.

At first, my hunts were... well, small-scale and kind of a disaster. I made sure to carefully dispose of the bodies, you know, just in case anyone thought I was trying to start some weird new trend of "spreading blood everywhere." I kept my kills under three at a time. Baby steps, right? I mean, this was a slow, awkward return to my natural habitat after years of peace—because, apparently, peace is overrated, and I was definitely more made for total destruction and chaos.

But oh, Demi-human blood... It was so different from the stuff I was used to. Every time I tried it, it was like... tasting a different snack at the snack table. Some were like, "Hey, I'm a veggie platter. Very basic. Not bad, but like, where's the flavor?" You know, the kind of blood that barely made a difference in my life—weak, bland, totally unsatisfying. The worst part? My soul didn't even get a boost. It was like drinking water—but gross.

Then, there were others. Some of them had blood like, "Oh, this is what it's supposed to taste like!" Rich, hearty, with just the right amount of kick. But, of course, the best ones? The leaders. Oh, their blood was like... nectar. Honestly, it was a toss-up between "nectar" and "sugar-free fruit punch"—either way, it was sweet, powerful, and totally satisfying. Too bad I had to resist going after all the strongest ones, because, you know, promise and ideals and all that boring stuff.

I did my best to keep my hands off the best blood (because, self-control!), and only went after the ones who either deserved to die or were really terrible at being decent people. Spent an entire year just hunting down the worst of the worst, the ones you'd throw out of your group chat for bad behavior. My hunts started getting bigger... mostly because, let's be real, the worst people are usually the most fun to hunt.

Of course, I was careful. Didn't want to get caught, or have some legend about the "Lord of Crimson" pop up and get the Six involved. Seriously, imagine trying to explain to them, "Hey, I've just been out here hunting some bad people, no big deal, don't worry about the bodies!" Yeah, that was never going to work. So, I cleaned up. Did the whole "dispose of evidence" thing like an amateur detective.

But here's the crazy part: my growth was like... way faster than I thought. Not the "normal" kind of growth—no, no, I was evolving. Like, real-time evolution. I was becoming stronger, faster, more unstoppable, like a walking monster. Maybe it was just all that blood. Or maybe it was because I kept telling myself that it's fine, everything's fine. Either way, I was feeling good. Power surging through me like I was on a sugar high. It was... intoxicating in a totally healthy way, if you ignore the whole "I'm becoming an even bigger monster" thing.

And then, just when I was feeling on top of the world (as one does after a great year of hunting and self-reflection), I had to leave the lands of the Demi-humans. Why? Because my stupid oath from ten years ago was suddenly calling me back east, to the Six and their overachieving empire. Ugh. You'd think that by now I would've learned to stop making promises to random kids, but noooo. I made an oath with this kid who was too brave for his own good—he'd asked me to make him like me. To become like me. Because, clearly, I was the role model everyone should have.

But, you know what? I respected him for that. He stood up to me. And after our big duel—which, for the record, was NOT me letting him win for dramatic effect—he actually bested me. Yeah, this guy, who didn't even flinch in the face of absolute destruction, nearly killed me. And you know what? That was... impressive. He was a lot better at this whole "surviving near-death situations" thing than I ever gave him credit for. If he'd really wanted me dead, I might've been toast.

After all that time, my oath was getting closer to being fulfilled. So, I did what anyone would do: flew back across the continent, because, apparently, that's how you get around when you've got wings and an ever-growing sense of self-importance. Oh, look at me, I'm just evolving and flying all over the place.

And there I was, soaring through the air, thinking I had everything under control—until the moment I realized... wait. I'd made a massive mistake. The moment I found him, I realized what I'd really asked of him. And let's just say: hindsight is a beautiful thing. Oh, boy.

He had been a hero once—or at least that's how he had convinced everyone. He'd fought in wars, waged bloodbaths, and even survived the cleansing of Tob. He had this whole 'righteous, world-saving' persona that I, in my infinite wisdom, had completely failed to do. I mean, honestly, how do you outshine someone who somehow became more popular for dying than for actually staying alive?

That's how this all started, right? He'd become the one who stood above everyone else, leading his followers and somehow managing to look like he didn't trip over his own feet every time he moved. And me? I was just... well, I was the loser who had failed at becoming the grand villain of the universe.

I wasn't invited to the grand palace celebration they were having. Not that I needed an invite—who needs invitations when you can just sneak in like the rat you are, right? I mean, I could have just knocked on the door like a normal person, but honestly, I preferred the sneakiness. It was safer that way—less chance of getting crushed underfoot by the self-important generals who had probably never even seen a real battlefield.

But today, I was feeling extra sneaky. Armed with absolutely no plan and a bottle of wine I'd stolen from a random guard (don't ask), I figured I'd slink my way in and get some information. The kingdom was so full of secrets, and who better to uncover them than the guy who could barely remember his own name after a good night's sleep?

I squeezed my rat-sized self through the cracks of the walls. Every step I took was like a failed audition for a spy movie. I tripped over my own tail, knocked over some tiny knick-knacks, and even gave the guard a friendly little bite on the ankle. He didn't even notice.

"Really? No one notices the giant rat in their hallway?" I muttered, face full of dust. The fact that I was a rat didn't seem to be helping my cause.

Finally, I found what I was looking for: a poor girl locked in a cage. But she wasn't just any girl. Oh no. She was connected—daughter of some nobleman, married to some other nobleman who was aligned with my child. The child who was now ruling a city like it was some kind of playground.

You see, my child—that little turd—was out there winning wars, managing cities, and making me look like the least competent immortal to ever exist. He was too busy "building empires" to even acknowledge the fact that I, his dear parent, was stuck pretending to be a rat in a dungeon, no less.

But hey, I wasn't about to let that ruin my day. I had plans. Big plans.

I shifted back into my usual form (you know, the one where everyone constantly forgets I exist) and started pretending I knew what I was doing. I'd drained her memories a bit—because why not? It's not like she was in any condition to stop me. I learned a few things, like how my kid was, once again, stealing the spotlight by being... well, a disgusting overachiever.

She didn't know much. Of course she didn't. Why would she? All she knew was that she was stuck with some nobleman who probably spent most of his days counting coins and worrying about which shiny armor looked most important.

But in the middle of my brilliant plan to get the information I needed, I sneezed. Yeah. Just the loudest, most embarrassing sneeze ever. You'd think someone would be more concerned with what was going on rather than the fact that the rat in the corner couldn't control its bodily functions, but I was so not that lucky.

As I fumbled to recover, I accidentally knocked over the chair she was tied to. It clattered to the ground in an overly dramatic fashion. She looked up, completely terrified, and all I could do was awkwardly stand there, not knowing if I should run, hide, or just throw myself into a river and call it quits.

"Uh, sorry about that," I muttered. "Totally meant to be cool."

I did what I did best—fled the scene like a scared child. But not before accidentally turning into a rat again. The real tragedy here was that the only thing I was actually good at was running away and looking pathetic while doing it.

Of course, this led to more failures. I was too busy being a rat to notice the guards approaching. I was nearly trampled by one of them before I darted out of their way. At one point, I found myself stuck in a barrel. Of course, that was after I accidentally bit a guard on the hand—again—just out of pure reflex.

When I finally made my way to the palace, I had one goal in mind: confronting my son. I had to show him how much I had grown. I mean, sure, he was sitting in his shiny palace chair, probably eating caviar or something, but that didn't mean I couldn't stroll in and say, "Hey, remember me? I'm your loser parent."

So, picture this: the grand, candle-lit throne room, moonlight streaming through a broken window, centuries of prestige oozing from the walls—and me, standing there with all the presence of a mildly inconvenienced broom closet attendant. But whatever, right? I was here to impress, to exude that ancient vampiric power. My time to shine.

Except… I tripped. Hard. Right in front of him. Full face-plant. My grand entrance was literally me belly-flopping onto the marble floor like a fish gasping for air. A great first impression, naturally.

"Well," he said, his voice dripping with sarcasm as he looked down at my sprawled-out, awkward form. "If that isn't the most terrifying sight I've ever seen."

I scraped myself off the floor, feigning some shred of dignity. "Ha-ha, yep. Just… keeping things lively," I mumbled. Good save, right? I straightened up, tried to dust off my cloak, which didn't actually work because vampire clothes apparently just absorb all dirt and embarrassment like a sponge.

I cleared my throat, realizing I had no idea what to say. "So, uh… remember that whole deal we made? The whole 'I'll-make-you-immortal' thing?"

He squinted at me. "Are… are you serious?" His voice was a perfect blend of "I'm disappointed" and "Did I really sign up for this?"

"Dead serious," I said, aiming for cool and mysterious but landing somewhere closer to "lost mall Santa." I reached out, trying to look all mystical as I cradled his head for the transformation bite. But in the most on-brand fail ever, my hand slipped, and I ended up jabbing him in the eye with my finger.

He recoiled, glaring at me. "What the—are you sure you know what you're doing?"

"Oh yeah, I got this, don't worry," I said, absolutely lying through my teeth. I finally leaned in to bite, missing his neck entirely and landing somewhere near his collarbone. He made this weird choking sound as I fumbled, trying to get it right without, you know, actually ripping his neck out.

Finally—finally—I got my fangs into the right place, and the blood started flowing. I tried to keep it cool, but I was starving. I mean, like, "haven't-eaten-since-the-Renaissance" starving, so I might've gone a little overboard. Just a bit. By the time I snapped out of it, I'd drained way too much, and he was basically twitching in my arms like a half-baked vampire pancake.

"Oh, crap," I whispered, realizing I'd messed up literally the first step. Not wanting to admit I'd nearly drained my first vampire progeny dry by accident, I slit my wrist and did the whole "drip my blood into his mouth" thing. But of course, he starts gagging and sputtering on it like I'm feeding him poison.

"You're… gonna be… just fine," I assured him, not even convincing myself. He coughed, looking like he'd been dragged through five layers of hell and back, but hey, at least he was conscious.

"R-right," he managed to choke out, still convulsing.

But of course, because life wasn't done with me yet, his wife—who was asleep nearby—decided now was the perfect time to wake up. She blinked, took one look at her husband twitching in my arms, me with a bloody wrist hanging over him, and screamed. Loudly.

"Not a great time for a freak-out, thanks," I hissed, gesturing at her to stay quiet. She screamed louder. I panicked, waving my hands around like an idiot trying to do a magic trick. Finally, I managed to get her pinned to the bed with one of my clumsily cast spells, but the damage was done—she looked like she was about to pass out.

Meanwhile, Carmine was still twitching, his transformation dragging on way longer than it was supposed to. It'd been, like, hours. I kept feeding him drops of my blood, trying to look like this was all part of the plan, while internally I was screaming, "Why is this taking so long?!"

Finally, he snapped his eyes open, gasping like a fish. "Save… her…" he managed to gasp out, clearly terrified of accidentally munching on his wife.

"Yeah, yeah, I got this," I said, trying to keep the panic out of my voice. I fumbled around in my pack, finally pulling out my magic blood flask—the thing I was supposed to have ready hours ago. "Here, drink this," I said, shoving it into his hands with the enthusiasm of a lunch lady serving mystery meat.

He chugged the flask like he'd never tasted blood in his life. Which, to be fair, he hadn't. He drained one, then two, then three bottles. When he finally looked up, there was a hint of recognition in his eyes, though he still looked pretty confused.

"You… really did it?" he croaked, his voice still wobbly.

"Oh, absolutely," I lied with the biggest forced smile, trying to look all "wise ancient vampire" but probably looking more like "desperate amateur." "Congratulations, Carmine. You're, uh, now a proud Vampire of the First Generation!" I said, throwing in the term as if I actually knew what I was talking about. This was all going to be fine. Totally.

Carmine, bless his soul, just nodded. He scooped up his wife, who looked about as thrilled as you'd expect someone to be when finding out they're now a vampire too. He went full melodramatic mode, practically weeping as he held her, but she was mostly busy trying not to scream.

"So… what are your orders, my Lord?" he asked, turning to me with big, expectant eyes like I was supposed to have some grand plan.

My "grand plan" was to somehow survive this situation without collapsing from embarrassment. "Uh, right. Orders. Um… you're gonna have to leave all of this behind," I said, gesturing at the mansion.

Carmine looked determined. "This was… just a facade anyway," he said, puffing up with tragic pride. Yeah, sure, buddy, whatever helps you sleep during the day.

With another sigh, I broke the window, awkwardly spread my wings (they always catch in the window frame; why are they so huge?), and scooped him and his now-miserably-unconscious wife into my arms like a weird, undead taxi service. I took off into the night, flying west as he tried to keep hold of his bags—bags he apparently had been pre-packing. For weeks. Like some kind of vampire prepper.

And so, there we were, hurtling through the sky, him clinging onto me like a terrified baby bat, me struggling to keep a straight face while internally crying about what a hot mess I'd turned this whole thing into.

---

Blood, Soul, Beast. Life, Magic, Transformation. Yeah, yeah. Big, important words. The kind of grand talk vampires have thrown around for eons, making it sound like we're magical demigods blessed with some world-changing gift. Truth is, they've been spewing this poetic blood-drama for so long that even the dust in the crypts rolls its eyes every time someone says it. But, hey, if you're in the Cult of the First Lord, you've got to take it seriously, right?

Anyway, I dragged myself out of a sleep-deprived trance as we crash-landed on the outskirts of the Demi-human lands. We'd just covered nearly a thousand miles in one go, and let's just say that speed-running as a vampire isn't nearly as glamorous as it sounds. Imagine running faster than a jet but without, you know, any actual sleep. My wings felt like they'd been through a woodchipper.

The poor wife finally woke up and, naturally, the first thing she did was go feral, eyes wide and crazed. With all the delicacy of a toddler holding a handful of spaghetti, Carmine tried to soothe her while she squirmed and yelped like a cornered possum. She was having none of it, thrashing around in his arms while he kept muttering sweet nothings like some bad soap opera vampire. In the end, he had to just squeeze her tight and wait for the sun to do its "calm-down-or-go-comatose" thing.

The sight was almost endearing—if "endearing" was code for "painfully awkward." Both of them eventually passed out, piled on each other in a tangled heap while I stood watch, utterly drained but still awake enough to try to look productive.

I got to work making some blood chains. Not as impressive as it sounds. Making anything from blood when you're as wiped out as I was is like trying to knit a scarf out of pudding. After enough cursing and a few dozen near-failures, I finally had a few decent chains that could keep her tied down for the night.

When I finally passed out on the floor of our hidden cabin, I'd barely closed my eyes before I woke up to both of them staring at me with that blank "I'm-hungry-but-not-sure-for-what" look. They probably woke up the second the sun went down, fresh and ready, while I was still feeling like I'd been hit by a truck. But hey, nothing says "leader" like passing out on the floor while your disciples watch.

After ensuring Ucelia—yeah, that was her name, which I'd found out mid-chain-creation—was secured, we set off for Carmine's first hunt. At least he wasn't foaming at the mouth like his wife, but watching him try to navigate his new vampire instincts was... let's just say it was like watching a baby deer try to run for the first time. I had to slow down about ten times as he kept stumbling, grumbling about every twig and branch that dared to touch him.

Tracking down prey? Normally a breeze. But with Carmine bumbling along behind me like a lost tourist, it was a miracle we found anything. Thankfully, I'd marked future meals with a drop of my blood long ago, so tracking them down wasn't too bad. Although my "victims" are usually too clueless to know what's happening, tonight, with Carmine tripping over roots, we weren't exactly blending into the shadows.

Eventually, we did manage to find some poor soul stumbling through the forest. Carmine, still learning the ropes, pounced with all the grace of a vampire-in-training—meaning he missed by a solid foot, crashed into a tree, and had to scramble back up before making another wobbly attempt.

In the end, the poor victim probably never even realized who or what hit him.

It was supposed to be a simple mission. But when you're dealing with Carmine, a bloodthirsty but adorable demon, and Ucelia, who has all the grace of a bull on roller skates, nothing ever goes as planned.

So, here I am, sneaking up on some deranged warlord who's basically the human version of a dumpster fire. I'm thinking, "Okay, we'll do this, grab the guy, get some blood, maybe a snack, and get out of here." But noooo. Of course not. That would be too easy.

First, I see him. And... he's surrounded by cat people. Not the cute, fluffy kind you'd want to pet, but the terrifying, feral, "I'm wearing fur and I WILL bite you" kind. I blinked, rubbed my eyes, and just stared. "What the heck is this? A furry convention?"

Before I could even ask myself what went wrong in my life, one of the cat people waved a clawed hand and started yelling at the warlord about some… I don't know… "tribal balance," "broken promises," and "bring the guy back." The entire situation sounded like a bad soap opera that I wasn't even remotely interested in.

Meanwhile, Carmine's over there, hiding behind a bush, probably sniffing the air and fantasizing about whatever disgusting thing he thinks is food. I had to yank him out from behind the tree, and he grumbled like a toddler forced to leave a candy store.

Now, listen—there was no way I was letting this disaster go on without a little extra chaos. So, I gave Carmine the signal to attack. He vanished with all the grace of a clumsy toddler running into a doorframe. I looked around just in time to see him plow through a whole group of cat-people, who, by the way, did not seem to appreciate that.

At this point, there was blood everywhere. It was less a fight and more of a "who can scream the loudest and make the most mess" contest. And trust me, Carmine was winning. He was flinging limbs and paws like they were confetti. I'm pretty sure he ate half of them before they even knew what happened. Honestly, the whole thing felt like a chaotic, supernatural food fight, but with less food and more... well, you get the idea.

Then there was Ucelia. She was supposed to be waiting for her blood, but she was too busy doing her best impression of a dramatic diva in a bad action movie. "I will not be controlled, I am the chosen one!" she screamed, pacing back and forth like a dog who just realized it wasn't going to get a treat. I tried to explain that I needed to get the blood into her—not on her face—but it took about five minutes before she realized I wasn't leaving until I did.

Oh, and did I mention that when Carmine finally finished his "meal," he was trying to wipe his mouth on the warlord's tunic like it was a napkin? Real classy, Carmine. I had to drag him away—mid-swig, of course—because he was starting to look way too satisfied with himself. Ucelia was not happy when I walked in with the blood, either. She threw one of those "are you serious?" glares at me, and I think we all know how that turned out.

"Ugh, you're both impossible," she huffed, practically throwing herself onto the floor in a tantrum. But I didn't have time for her drama. I just tossed the vial at her, and it landed somewhere in her lap. She gently picked it up with all the enthusiasm of a child who just got a broken toy for Christmas and went straight for it. At this point, Carmine was doing a victory lap around the room, so he didn't even notice her screaming in horror at the taste.

"Oh god," she spat, wiping her mouth like she just drank the world's most disgusting smoothie. "I can't believe I'm doing this."

"You're welcome," I said dryly, mostly because I had no better excuse for how things were going. Seriously, if there was an award for "Most Disaster-Prone Supernatural Cult," we were winning by a landslide.

Now, here's the kicker: right as I thought things were finally starting to calm down, Ucelia froze. Like, mid-rant, like a frozen deer in headlights. Carmine stopped mid-bounce, and I froze for a second, thinking, "Oh no, did she just have a mental breakdown?" But nope! She had this terrifying, shaky realization.

"Wait…" she started, wide-eyed, "Did you just—trick me?"

I grinned like I actually had a plan for once, like I wasn't just winging it with no idea what I was doing. "Oh, you think I'm just handing out free blood like it's some kind of vampire soup kitchen?"

Of course, Ucelia flipped out. You know, like how a cat flips its tail when it's mad? Except, instead of a tail, it was everything. "You're lying to me!" She kept shouting things like, "You're not my friend!" like I was supposed to give a crap. Honestly, it was hilarious—she was a walking, talking soap opera. I half expected her to throw a chair across the room for drama.

By the end of it, we were all just sitting there like a bunch of misfit toys. Carmine? He was curled up on the floor, purring like a pathetic little kitten who knew he'd messed up. Ucelia was passed out, I guess because screaming for an hour straight is pretty exhausting. And me? Well, I was just sitting there, watching the disaster unfold like a spectator at a trainwreck I had totally caused.

I sighed dramatically, like the world's worst actor. "Nothing," I said, letting that sink in like it was some deep revelation. "I would've just offed you by now, but Carmine's all 'love and kindness' and crap. So here we are. You're stuck with me." I didn't even care if it made sense. At this point, my life was one big, nonsensical mess, so why not spread the joy?

Carmine, of course, had to ruin the moment with his overly emotional speech. "I'd die before I let you go," he blubbered. Seriously, this was some high-level cringe. I felt like I needed a bucket of popcorn to get through it.

Ucelia stared at him like he'd just told her he'd sacrificed a goat in her honor, and I swear, I could hear the dramatic music swell in the background. She gasped. "Why didn't you tell me before?" she asked like she'd just discovered she was living in a sitcom.

I shrugged. "Because this is real life, not some soap opera, sweetheart."

But of course, Carmine—being the emotional sponge that he is—didn't stop there. "I couldn't risk losing you," he sobbed. "Not after all we've been through."

I stared at him like he was the main character in a reality show I'd accidentally gotten caught in. Honestly? I was bored. All this drama was making me want to take a nap.

Ucelia's eyes watered, and she went on about how they could've had a "normal life" and "children" and all that crap that normal people talk about when they've never been cursed to live forever. How cute. I couldn't even imagine a "normal" life at this point. I mean, what was "normal" anyway? Was it sitting in a chair, having these weird emotional conversations with people who clearly didn't have their lives together? Because if so, I was crushing it.

Carmine was still sniffling in the corner, trying to act like he wasn't a complete failure. "I'd rather be with you, even if it means being stuck in this cursed mess," he whined. "You're worth it, Ucelia. You're my everything."

I almost choked on my own sarcasm. "Yeah, no one else would put up with your drama," I muttered. They didn't hear me. Honestly, I'm kind of glad. I was definitely the wrong person to give advice on relationships. I'd only managed to mess up every single one of mine.

Finally, Ucelia looked at him like she was deciding whether or not to throw herself off a cliff, and I swear, I was half expecting her to do it. "But I would've been better without you," she said dramatically, like she was auditioning for a role in a play I didn't want to be part of.

I leaned back in my chair, stretched my legs out like a lazy, defeated cat, and watched them fumble through their mess. There was no saving this trainwreck. I figured I'd let them have their moment. Me? I wasn't getting involved. I was just here to watch.

"Seriously, I don't even know why you guys are crying," I finally said, because what else could I do? My life's a joke, their lives are a joke, and honestly, I was just along for the ride at this point.

Carmine eventually calmed down, probably realizing he was coming across like a total loser. Ucelia, after a while, seemed less angry and more confused, like someone who'd just walked into the wrong house and was wondering where the snacks were.

The next morning, they were both passed out in the bed, looking like they'd spent the night in a war zone. Honestly, they could've just slept through the whole thing, but no—drama had to happen. What a surprise.

And me? I wasn't doing much better. I left them six vials of blood from my hunt, like I was some kind of weird, dark fairy godmother. I mean, what was I even doing? They weren't my responsibility.

Still, I couldn't help but feel bad for Carmine. I guess he deserved some redemption. So I left them the blood. Hopefully, they could get their act together.

But, uh, knowing them, they'd probably screw it up too. I mean, honestly, at this point, I'm not even surprised anymore. As for me? Well, let's just say I don't do relationships. The last time I tried, I made the mistake of letting someone get too close. You know how it goes—things go south faster than a reality TV star's career after a scandal. I still remember her—an Elven maiden who was like a bad season finale. She kept showing up at my door, crying, trying to get me to feel guilty. Like I needed that in my life. She was always making me feel like I was some monster for being me. Honestly, though, it was the best thing for both of us in the end. I tore her apart. Not literally, of course. But emotionally? You bet. It's kind of my thing.
So, here I am again, sitting in the dark, wondering how I've royally messed this one up too. What a loser. Seriously, if failure was an Olympic sport, I'd have a trophy case by now.
But hey, I've still got blood to drink. That's something, right? It's a small comfort, but comfort nonetheless.

For a time, however, I was happy. Yeah, surprising, right? After two whole years with Carmine and Ucelia, I actually started to feel confident in their abilities. Confident enough, in fact, to realize it was time. Time to really start this thing.

See, during those two years of "teaching" and "studying" my children, I wasn't exactly sitting around on my butt eating bonbons. No, I'd been busy. Very busy. Like, too busy. In between trying not to totally screw up my own life, I was busy building an army. A vast legion of Blood Knights, studying Demi-human clans, and working on my little project that would eventually be the center of my "kingdom." And I gotta admit, I was kind of proud of how things were turning out. For a while, I even thought I might be doing something right for once.
I'd managed to cobble together a basic keep. Sure, it wasn't a fortress, but it was mine. Blood magic and the occasional stolen memory from anyone I could get my hands on helped immensely—don't ask how, I'd rather not get into it. It wasn't perfect. But you know what? It didn't need to be. It had a curtain wall, a solid foundation, and a keep no bigger than a mid-sized mansion. Honestly? It probably looked more like the set for a bad medieval movie, but it worked. And after a whole damn year of work, it was finally done. It was a million times better than a crummy cabin.
And the location? Oh, man. It was golden. Surrounded on all sides by dense forests and rivers, right in the heart of Demi-human country. It was practically built for defense. Plus, I had iron, stone, and coal mines all around—gonna need those when I take over.

Oh, and speaking of taking over, there was this little gold mine about twenty miles to the north, discovered by one of the other tribes. Wouldn't have been a huge deal to me, except, you know, I'm planning to conquer it. Gold doesn't really matter to me, but I had a bigger plan. Trade, economy, that whole "building a nation" thing. Can't exactly have a successful kingdom running on barter and goodwill alone, can I?
And the true centerpiece of it all? Me, of course. And my Vampire Children. And the ten thousand Blood Knights I'd created with their help. Eidetic memory? Check. Extreme multitasking? Check. The ability to mess things up just as much as I fix them? Oh yeah, double check. Honestly, Carmine and Ucelia had helped so much that I kind of relied on them more than I cared to admit. But, hey, who's keeping track?

In the twelve years since I got dumped into this world, my Blood Knights had come a long way. They weren't the pathetic little minions they started as. No, these guys were practically unstoppable. They were independent, for crying out loud. Skilled? Oh yeah, extremely skilled. They shared the skills and memories of the best fighters I'd ever consumed—some of whom almost killed me, by the way, which should probably tell you how good they were.
Even Carmine's memories helped shape them—he was, after all, the best swordsman I knew. Thanks to my improved blood manipulation powers, their bodies, armor, and weapons were practically next level—way better than they'd ever been. I even used my first blood spell to make their weapons cause bleeding wounds. They'd be slicing through enemies like butter, and I'd be sitting back, watching it all unfold like the genius that I am.

I stood at the head of my legions, looking at them as they arrayed themselves before me. Ten thousand strong. I smiled, though honestly, I was still unsure if I could pull this off. But hey, if I'd somehow made it this far without burning everything to the ground, maybe—just maybe—I could make this work.

It had begun. Whether I was ready for it or not.

---

War. War isn't some grand, noble thing. No, it's a mess. A filthy, bloody, soul-sucking mess that drags you down into the muck. War is where everything you care about gets ripped apart. Where good intentions go to die and evil's only crime is winning. Yeah, war is where the weak fall and the stupid keep going, and guess who's still standing? That's right, me. The one who has no business being here but somehow... is.

Thirteen years. Thirteen years since I stepped into this nightmare of a world, and I'm still here, somehow. That's the thing, isn't it? You survive long enough, and eventually, people start to listen to you, even if it's just to hear your ridiculous ideas. Thirteen years of wandering, fighting, failing, and... well, not dying. That's the best part. You keep stumbling around long enough, people start calling you a "leader." So here I am—thrust into a position I absolutely do not deserve, commanding armies I can't even wrap my head around, and watching it all unfold with just a dash of "how the hell did this happen?"

The gates to my castle creaked open like some cheesy movie moment, and there I was, riding out in front of my Blood Knights like I knew what I was doing. I should've been terrified. Honestly, I was terrified. But hey, my horse was made of blood or something. That's cool, right? I looked at Carmine and Ucelia, my "trusted" generals, and figured, yeah, this is going to end so well. We rode out, a trio of clueless idiots, about as graceful as a rock band that hasn't figured out the instruments yet.

After about ten miles of that nonsense, we split up. Ucelia went south with her army of three thousand knights to grab some mines that the Demi-humans kept fighting over. Perfect idea, right? Shut down their resources, crush their spirit, yadda yadda. That's what you're supposed to do in a war. But honestly? I had no idea what the hell I was doing.

Carmine went west toward the Ilthenian tribes. Bat-lizard-human hybrids. Yeah, that's a thing, apparently. They're tough, or at least they think they are. So Carmine gets four thousand knights, and I'm like, Good luck, buddy. Hope you don't screw it up. And for the record, I'm still not convinced he knows what he's doing either.

As for me? Well... I had no grand plan. Nothing. Zero. Just a vague idea of "go in every direction and hope something works." I sent my knights in every direction, like some failed god of war who can't even manage to focus. No specific targets, just... yeah, whatever happens happens. My idea of strategy was hoping that sheer dumb luck would carry me through. Spoiler alert: it didn't.

Here's the thing: Ucelia and Carmine? They're normal. They need to keep their forces close, or they can't do anything. Me? I'm "special." Whatever that means. I can control my knights from far away, like some idiot wizard who thinks he's playing a video game. I stretch my senses out, and my knights move on my command like they're not just a bunch of poor suckers stuck following my dumb orders. But, hey, I'm in charge, right? Definitely. Or at least, that's what I keep telling myself.

It felt... good? I guess? It was like being drunk on power, but the kind of power you didn't ask for and don't deserve. But it was there, so I guess I got to roll with it.

Then the Demi-humans decided to actually try and fight back. Wow. What a shocker. Of course, they were terrible at it. They tried charging us like they were going to win or something. I barely had to break a sweat—mostly because my knights trampled them like the weak little chumps they were. Sure, I got a few scratches on my armor, but honestly, I barely felt it. Wasn't even worth mentioning.

Then came the village. Oh, the village. I wasn't expecting resistance there—hell, I wasn't expecting resistance anywhere. But they actually put up a fight. It was cute. I kind of liked it. The males—those poor bastards—didn't last long. I drained their blood so fast I couldn't even keep track of how many. Maybe I got a little too carried away? Who knows. But it was a lot of blood. And I'm not proud of it, but... I drank it. All of it. Like some sick, twisted version of a buffet that I didn't even deserve to be at.

But then, there was him—the big guy. The Dracotaur. The one that almost killed me, which, you know, isn't great for my ego. But... I kind of admired him. Weird, right? He fought like he meant it, and, honestly, I couldn't just kill him. I had to step in personally to finish the job. But in the end, I turned him into one of mine. The Beast. Y'know, the thing that wasn't even on my to-do list, but hey, it worked out. He even begged me to save his tribe, so I gave him the gift. The least I could do, right?

After that, I started offering the same deal to anyone I could find. More tribes. More blood. More of me pretending I knew what I was doing. Bafolk. Naga. Whatever. At this point, I was just collecting people like they were trading cards.

One month later, Ucelia hits me up: "Mines are secure. Five more tribes joined us."

And for a split second, I thought, "Hey, maybe I'm actually good at this." And then I remembered how much I didn't want to be good at this. So yeah, it's working... for now. But it's a mess. It's all a mess, and somehow, I'm at the center of it. God help me.

Anyway, she started Phase Two: bringing the hundred tribes that still weren't mine into the fold. Because sure, why not? This was going so well, I figured, maybe I could pull off one more miracle. In her letter, Ucelia also mentioned that she lost a single cohort of knights. Yeah, that's right—one—which I guess was impressive, but also... was it? I mean, I wasn't sure if I should be proud or deeply concerned.

Three months later, I got word from Carmine in the west. Now, he had a bit more of a struggle. Gigantic battles. Thousands of Demi-humans. They used tactics. Strategy. Stuff I'd never even heard of. They actually outmaneuvered him. He lost twelve cohorts across a dozen battles. Twelve. And let's be honest, half of those losses were probably his fault. He said the Ilthenian tribes weren't the greatest fighters, but damn, they had a way of using their overwhelming numbers to tie his forces in these grinding melees that completely screwed him over.

But guess what? Carmine didn't give up. Eventually, he figured it out, somehow. The Ilthenians were on the retreat, and he began conquering village after village. What a genius. Not that I could take much credit, but hey—at least he learned. Unlike Ucelia, who still thought using her newly turned leaders as attack dogs was the way to go, Carmine followed my example. He turned the leaders he captured into sane, bloodthirsty commanders and trained them. He even let them turn three of their own people, which—sure, why not? It worked, and they spread chaos all over the Ilthenian lines.

Sure, there were some losses. I mean, of course there were losses. Eighteen cohorts of blood knights destroyed. Four second generation killed. A couple thousand Ilthenians exterminated. But at the end of it all, Carmine got the job done. Eighteen thousand new blood slaves. Eight hundred twenty gallon vials of blood. Seriously, I didn't even know what that much blood looked like. I'd never seen a "gallon" before, but now I was pretty sure it was just buckets of carnage.

When I got his report, I honestly wasn't sure whether to laugh, cry, or just die of stress. But I was relieved—a little. I'd expected this conquest to be over sooner. Much sooner. The fact that it took this long just meant I'd overestimated how quickly we could just, you know, crush everyone and move on with life. The Demi-humans, it turned out, weren't exactly the pushovers I'd thought they were. They had tactics and brains, and now they knew how to fight me.

As soon as I read Carmine's report, I sent him his new orders: focus on consolidation. I was done expanding for now. My Kingdom had grown large enough. Two hundred miles wide. Forty miles tall. I had no desire to keep stretching my borders into oblivion. I just needed someone to manage all this mess I'd made. Someone who wasn't me.

While Carmine got to work managing and setting up a government system, I focused on the ongoing war with the Demi-humans. And when I say focused, I mean I just hoped Carmine would keep everything from completely falling apart while I "pretended" to know what I was doing. The good news? My blood knights were now reinforced by the two thousand knights that had been under his command. Hell yeah. That was a big win. Now I could spread my incompetence even farther.

And then came the two years. The two long years of constant war. Death. Conquest. Blood. I didn't even know what I was fighting for at this point, but the front line kept expanding, and the Kingdom was getting bigger. By the end of it, I had a Kingdom that was almost as big as modern Hungary. Which... fine, I guess. But it was way more chaotic. I'd started with the grand goal of conquering everything, but surprise—it was harder than I thought. And these tribes were putting up a hell of a fight the longer we went on.

But hey, at least I got something done, right?

So, here I was. The supposed "ruler" of a growing Vampiric kingdom, trying to hold it all together while stumbling through a war I barely understood, let alone orchestrated. On one hand, my forces were steadily growing—sure, I'd gained a ton of power, but honestly? It was mostly due to luck and Carmine's constant reminders not to completely screw things up. On the other hand, the Demi-humans had decided to unite against me, which meant I wasn't expanding anymore. Nope, instead, I was on the defensive, desperately trying to patch holes in my rapidly crumbling empire like some kind of undead handyman. And as my armies got spread thinner than a vampire at a daylight picnic, I realized I had to deal with not one, not two, but nearly THREE dozen tribes and their chieftains.

Yeah, that's right, three dozen. Because, you know, that's totally manageable for someone who barely knows how to balance his own blood supply.

Long story short, I was forced to swear, with all the dignity of a toddler trying to eat soup, that I would never again launch a war of conquest against their tribes. Miraculously, they agreed. And I'm pretty sure the only reason they did was because they were just as tired as I was. Tens of thousands of their warriors were dead, dozens of tribes scattered, and frankly, I think they were just looking for an excuse to stop fighting. At least they still thought my kingdom was some sort of unstoppable force—thankfully, they didn't know that I was winging it half the time.

Of course, I could have kept the war going. I could have wiped them all out and taken the rest of their lands, but honestly? I wasn't sure I even knew how to handle that much territory. Besides, there was something strangely appealing about not being constantly on the brink of death for once. I had other things to worry about—like, you know, not dying in my sleep.

I needed the Demi-humans strong and united for the future, and somehow (miraculously) I managed that. They were more unified than ever before. It was almost like I accidentally stumbled upon diplomacy... without actually knowing what diplomacy was.

But let's be real for a second. The looming threat of defeat was there, staring me in the face like a full moon at midnight. If I lost, my kingdom would crumble into dust. I wasn't willing to let that happen—not until I had solidified my power base and actually figured out how to expand my armies without making things worse.

Which brings us to my Kingdom—this unholy mess I had somehow built. When the war began, there were only three Vampires—myself, Carmine (because of course he had to be one of the first), and Ucelia. Now, there were six hundred of us. Six hundred, and I can barely handle the five minutes of peace we get between skirmishes. How did I go from three Vampires to six hundred? It was mostly by accident and a lot of unqualified recruiting. Don't ask me how it happened.

Including Carmine, we now had ten first-generation Vampires. And, okay, I'll admit—I didn't entirely screw up the whole "choosing my generals" part. But only because Carmine and Ucelia wouldn't stop throwing their weight around until I picked people who were actually good at things like "fighting" and "not being totally inept." Now I had a cadre of Bloodlords—powerful and experienced, though still somehow worse at following orders than a gaggle of drunk squirrels.

I extracted oaths of loyalty from them with a combination of my magic and an unholy amount of promises. Yes, I made sure to tie their loyalty to a magical contract because, honestly, I didn't trust them any further than I could throw them—especially after watching how some of them nearly came to blows over who got the better title. And let's not even talk about the ridiculous names I gave them. Hey, I'm not the best leader, but at least I can be creative when it comes to making ridiculous titles. They loved it. Arrogance? Vampires have it in spades.

I made sure the power structure was as clear as day—because, let's be real, the whole "who's in charge" thing had been a little murky during the war. At the top, of course, was me. Yeah, I know, surprise. The First Lord and Progenitor of our race. My kingdom was built around my one great skill: pretending I knew what I was doing while somehow managing to get results. After me came the three Aspect Lords. Honestly? They were just really powerful Vampires with fancy titles to make them feel special. I could barely remember which one was which, but they kept things running—mostly by throwing their weight around and making sure the whole place didn't collapse.

And then we had the Bloodlords. Ten of them, all personally chosen by me... though I'm still pretty sure I didn't do a great job at choosing a few of them. But whatever. They got stuff done, and that's all I really needed.

But here's where it gets really fun. There were Clan Lords below the Bloodlords—second-generation Vampires who were supposed to be the trustworthy ones. They ran things like hunting grounds, complaints, and, apparently, vampire matchmaking. Some of them were incredibly capable—others were... well, they weren't terrible at their jobs? But when your best people are the ones I picked out of sheer desperation, you know you're in for a good time.

And then came the regular Lords. These guys handled small stuff like villages, towns, and the occasional feudal lordling who didn't know the meaning of "boundaries." It wasn't a great system, but hey, it worked. Mostly. No one got too out of hand, and at least I'd made sure the rules kept the Vampires from going full rogue on their mortal subjects. Well, except for a few minor hiccups, like, you know, the occasional murder here and there.

As for the blood tax? Oh, yeah, that's where things got interesting. Vampires need blood to survive—duh. And since we had about six hundred Vampires, I figured the mortals could pitch in a little. Nothing too crazy, right? Just a few ounces a day. What could possibly go wrong?

In the end, I somehow managed to make it all work. Sure, it wasn't perfect. It wasn't even good by most standards. But it worked. And if you asked anyone in my kingdom, they'd probably tell you I was a genius—though, you know, only because they were too afraid to admit I had no idea what I was doing most of the time.

So yeah, maybe I went to war for power. But I sure didn't expect to stumble into success like this. If nothing else, I guess I've mastered the art of faking it till I make it.

The power afterwards was… indescribable. But not in the "I'm a mighty ruler" way, more like the "I can't believe I haven't tripped over my own feet and fallen into an abyss yet" kind of indescribable. I was powerful before the war, sure. Maybe not powerful like the heroes in the stories, but I could hold my own. Around level 50, if I'm being generous—definitely not the "chosen one" kind of power, more like the guy who barely gets invited to the party, but still shows up and somehow survives the night.

Then came the war, and somehow—through sheer dumb luck and a few questionable decisions—I ended up stronger. I guess draining a bunch of people and absorbing animal traits and randomly evolving can do that to you. Before the war, I was probably a solid level 50, and by the end, I think I was level 75? Honestly, I have no clue. I'm not a player. I'm just the guy who's somehow managing to stumble through life with the subtle grace of a raccoon on roller skates.

So yeah, after the Festival of Blood (which, by the way, was not my idea—it sounded much cooler when someone else suggested it), I became this thing. My very presence was like a walking disaster movie, but somehow everyone was too terrified of me to say anything about it. I could basically make the ground tremble and not because I was so majestic or anything—it was more like the world itself was asking, "How is this guy still standing?" But deep down, I knew it wasn't enough. I didn't feel like a god—I felt like the lucky idiot who somehow gets put in charge of everything, only to realize he doesn't know which end of the sword to hold.

But the Bloodlords? Oh, they treated me like I was some kind of god. I mean, I could probably kill them with just a glare, and they'd be bowing before me like I was the second coming of whatever they believed in. But I wasn't doing it because I was some kind of tyrant, it was just easier to let them think I was that powerful, because the alternative was me admitting I was flying by the seat of my pants and hoping no one noticed I had no idea what I was doing.

The world kept turning, and while I tried to act like I had everything under control, I was secretly just waiting for the whole thing to fall apart. The Six? Yeah, they started dying off like they were ticking time bombs, one after the other. But me? I just kept surviving, like a cockroach that found itself in charge of a bunker. I wasn't doing anything special, I was just still here, and that somehow made me more terrifying. It was like when the awkward kid gets promoted to class president, and no one knows how it happened, but they're too afraid to say anything.

The elves decided to start their empire, and the Demi-humans were all fighting like they were auditioning for a low-budget medieval drama. As for me, I just sat there, trying to look like I knew what I was doing. They were all so busy fighting each other that they didn't seem to notice I was still just pretending to be in control. The whole thing was like a high school talent show, and I was the kid who accidentally won by not screwing it up too badly.

And then came the vampires. Let's talk about that for a second. So there I am, somehow managing to keep hundreds of vampires from burning down the entire kingdom. You'd think it'd be a disaster, right? But no. Somehow, I kept it all together like a guy holding a stick in the middle of a tornado, hoping the storm would just pass. When the newbie vampire stole someone's bloodline, that's when things really went south. A war almost broke out, and I had no idea what to do. My first instinct? Just play it by ear. What could possibly go wrong?

So I did what I do best: winged it. I manipulated them into believing mixing bloodlines was some kind of unholy sin. And guess what? It worked. And honestly, that might be the most embarrassing part of the whole thing. That's right. I didn't have some grand master plan. I wasn't the brilliant strategist people seemed to think I was. I was just the guy who somehow managed to lie his way through an apocalypse without completely messing everything up.

In the end, I'm the one left standing, but I didn't earn any of it. I was just the lucky guy who managed to stay alive long enough to watch the mess I'd caused slowly burn itself out. And yeah, I might have outsmarted a few people along the way, but if I'm being honest, it was more about surviving than conquering. I was the guy who stumbled into victory because everyone else was too busy to notice I didn't know how to lead anything. It wasn't about being strong—it was about being the one who failed the least.

So there you go. A "kingdom" under my rule. A "legacy" that somehow exists, despite all of my failures. The idiot who somehow didn't crash and burn, but maybe just fizzled out into some sort of accidental success.

However, even while my Vampiric children fought like a bunch of overgrown toddlers, my mortal subjects somehow stumbled into prosperity. It's almost impressive how they managed it, honestly. I mean, they were supposed to be my subjects—my glorious kingdom—and yet, somehow, with the protection of their Vampiric overlords costing them not a single coin of gold but rather, just blood (no big deal), the common folk managed to get ahead. Why? Because, without their gold getting siphoned off into my ever-hungry coffers, they actually used it to improve their lives. Can you imagine?

Public works? Oh sure, there were roads. Lots of roads. They twisted through the forests like a bunch of drunk snakes on a bender, and somehow, it worked. Castles and cities rose, looking all shiny and impressive, built with smooth stone and way too much enthusiasm for my liking. It was like someone gave the commoners a budget, and they decided to build their dream medieval amusement park.

They even built schools. Schools! I had no idea what was going on anymore. My perfect, world-shaping plan was crumbling before me as the common folk got all "educated" and stuff. They started speaking a language I created—oh, joy. Now they could curse my name in multiple dialects! Farms were sprouting up, mines were working overtime, walls rose around the vampire cities like they were expecting a siege... but no, it was just a bunch of overzealous architects with too much time and too many ideas.

And you want to hear something that made me feel really useful? Refrigeration. I'm talking about iceboxes enchanted with magic that could keep food cold for centuries. I made it. Me. The great mastermind behind such a revolutionary invention. In hindsight, maybe I should've come up with something less ridiculous. But hey, it worked! My kingdom was awash in cold food, which is apparently what everyone needed to feel like they were living the high life. The poorest of the poor had their own enchanted fridges. I could barely keep track of my own goals, let alone my kingdom's needs, and yet somehow, I was considered the genius behind frozen vegetables.

And the Soul Clans? Oh, they were getting in on the action, too. They started charging ridiculous amounts of blood and gold for their magical trinkets and enchantments. The common folk couldn't get enough of them. Apparently, my legacy was going to be known for magic trinkets, like some kind of glorified flea market. Seriously. The stuff they made wasn't even that impressive. Just a bunch of enchanted junk, but now every villager had some magic artifact that made them feel like they were living in a fantasy novel. And, of course, it was all mass-produced. That's right. Mass-produced. What was I even doing anymore?

My kin? Oh, they were thriving in their own dysfunctional way, bickering like children about who could be the biggest disaster. Meanwhile, I was growing stronger by the day, but it was pointless. I mean, what's the point of strength when your kingdom is one bad decision away from falling apart? Oh, and then there's the little matter of the Greed Kings. They were coming in forty years—forty! How on earth could I prepare for them when my own children were already preparing to rip the kingdom to shreds in some internal power struggle? I'm so ready to face them. So. Ready.

I even thought about taking a lover, like a nice, normal, "let's settle down and start a family" kind of thing. You know, just to make my personal life as dysfunctional as my kingdom. But nah, I didn't have time for that. The Greed Kings were practically knocking at my door. Who wants to get distracted by love when you're about to face certain doom? Certainly not me.

And let's be honest—who would want to love me? I'm an ancient, blood-sucking loser, with a kingdom full of messes and too many bad decisions under my belt. Nobody would want me. And if they did, they'd probably just want a place to stash their cold food.

A bitter chuckle echoed down the empty halls. "No one," he whispered like he was the only one who understood the tragedy of my existence.

---

"He's beautiful, my love!" The beautiful woman said, her smile beaming.

The man chuckled awkwardly, scratching the back of his head. "Uh, yeah, he kind of... reminds me of you."

The woman raised a delicate brow, lips curling into a playful grin. "You must be joking, love. He's an exact copy of you. He even has your eyes!"

The man blinked, glanced at the baby, then back at his wife, flustered. "Yeah... he totally does." He stared at the child's red, wide-eyed gaze, totally innocent, totally adorable... and he could already feel his heart melting. This kid was way too cute. But then the tiny, little nose wrinkled, and the baby sneezed—*right in his face*.

"Ha! I guess he got that from me too..." the man stammered, wiping his face off with a sleeve as the baby looked utterly confused by the outburst.

He turned to look at his wife—*and* the kid was gone. "What?!" he gasped, looking around frantically. "Where'd she go?! Where did the kid go?!"

His heart raced as he sprinted through the house, looking under tables, behind the couch, and even inside the laundry basket—nothing. There was no sign of either of them. Panic started to rise in his chest like a balloon, and before he knew it, he was outside, shouting. "Honey?! Where are you?! Junior?!"

The silence in the village was unsettling. It was like someone had hit the mute button on life. And then... there they were. The graves. A whole sea of them. And kneeling in front of them was his wife—no, not *his* wife. The *maiden*. The one who didn't know how to put on pants without turning it into a full-on disaster.

He staggered over, tripping over his own feet a couple of times—classic. "What... what is all this?" he asked, kneeling beside her, desperately trying to act like he was in control when his knees were shaking. His body felt like a poorly assembled chair, all wobbly and weak.

She didn't even look at him. Just kept clutching the empty cloth where their baby had once been. His face flushed with embarrassment. "I—uh—I didn't mean to, y'know, vanish on you like that. I was just, uh, *taking a breather*. Needed some air!" He chuckled nervously, trying to avoid eye contact with her.

The wind howled, but the only thing he could hear was the heavy silence that filled the air around them. This was bad. Real bad. He knew how bad it was. It was like—like that time he'd accidentally eaten the whole batch of her famous cookies... and told her he hadn't. The memory made his stomach turn.

Suddenly, the world went from a dark, desolate scene to a warm, vibrant inn where the elves were, as usual, overly happy and thoroughly plastered. He wasn't even sure how he had ended up there, but there he was, on his usual spot in the corner—soaking it all in.

"Ahhh, yes, my usual corner of *misery*." He said to no one in particular, sighing dramatically.

And then—*bam*—she walked in.

Reliasia. Tall. Blonde. Too perfect for words. Probably *way* too perfect. She looked like a goddess if gods were made of pure sunshine and happiness, and he was the miserable little shadow lurking in the corner. She caught his gaze and smiled.

"*Imril!*" she called out cheerfully. "I knew I'd find you here again!" Her voice rang like a bell in the quiet room. She walked toward him and whispered with exaggerated conspiracy, "*You know you can join them, right? You don't need to hide over here like some awkward lump.*"

He snorted, shaking his head. "You know, I'm not hiding. I'm, uh, just... *admiring the atmosphere," he mumbled, feeling more like an idiot by the second.

She cocked her head. "You really need to stop talking like that. You've got a whole history, Imril. So what? It's all in the past. Plus, they were *humans*. Who cares?" She laughed, and Imril couldn't help but smile, even though he wasn't sure why.

She kept talking—gossiping away about everything and anything. He just sat there, nodding like an idiot, half-listening, half-wishing he was anywhere else.

Then, in the midst of her rambling, she paused. Her gaze turned from friendly banter to something more intense. He didn't even notice he'd been staring at her, completely captivated by how her lips moved when she spoke.

"*Oh*" he thought, "*this is awkward. Just don't—don't make eye contact. Whatever you do, don't—*"

But it was too late.

She leaned in close and—*bam*—kissed him. Soft. Velvet-like. Vanilla. Raspberries. He was *so* unprepared for this moment that he almost fell out of his chair.

And then things escalated. One minute they were in the inn, and the next, they were at her place, and he was—he had no idea how it happened, honestly. His brain was on strike at that point. All he knew was he was... *making bad decisions*.

"*I love you, Imril*" she whispered, and it sounded so perfect, so sincere, that he felt like an even bigger idiot. He stroked her face, unable to believe his own stupidity.

"*I... I love you too, Reliasia*" he mumbled, all flustered, awkward, like someone who had no idea what they were doing in the slightest.

The next morning, the hangover hit him first—followed closely by regret.

"*What did I do...*" he groaned, trying to escape the bed, but her arms were wrapped around him. "*No, no, no, I can't—*"

She pulled him back, and he was stuck in a never-ending loop of poor life choices.

"Please, Imril," she whispered, voice cracking. "*Please don't leave me*."

And he froze. He couldn't leave. But also, he *really* should. But his brain was short-circuiting, and in his weakest moment, he just... couldn't.

And then—well, you know what happened next. He kissed her forehead and bolted out the door like a cow being chased by wolves. Classic Imril move.

For a week, he avoided her. And for another two, she didn't talk to him. But he knew deep down—he would never forget. Because no matter how hard he tried, he couldn't. And that was the real problem.

---

Forty years. That's how long I had been in this world. Forty years of existence as the big cheese, the head honcho, the progenitor of an entire race of Vampires. And while I wouldn't say it had been a smooth ride, especially in the early years, I could at least say they were interesting. Some days I was convinced I might break under the weight of it all, but nope! I persevered. Like a vampire-made-of-steel… or something.

You see, suffering, chaos, strife—basically, everything that makes life really, really sucky—was supposed to mold me into this perfect, badass ruler. Or so I told myself. And honestly? It kinda worked. Every time I thought I might just give up and start knitting sweaters instead of ruling, I found some weird way to make it through and grow. Sure, I was mostly just stumbling through life, but hey, growth is growth, right?

So, fast forward to 25 years into my reign. A whole generation had grown up since I claimed the throne, and let me tell you, a lot can happen in that time—probably more than I realized. I might have started a tiny vampire kingdom with a couple hundred people, but by the time my reign hit the 25-year mark, there were way more mortals around. I had worked so hard to make life easier for everyone that the population exploded like a frog in a blender. Medical advances, magical food production, you name it. Heck, kids weren't dropping dead like they used to!

Now, I was pretty proud of my kingdom at the time. Population went from 300 to nearly 600,000 in no time, thanks to my stellar leadership. The Vampires kept growing, though not as fast—turns out, they were a little picky with their new blood, go figure. But I didn't let that bother me too much.

Things were rolling until the greedy little clowns in the clans started asking, "Hey, why aren't we taking over more land?" and "We're super powerful, right? We could totally crush those dragon nerds!" And I just said, "Not yet, chill out." I mean, who doesn't want to dominate more territory, but I was busy, okay? Paperwork, politics, vampire tax codes—you know how it goes.

But of course, my youngest kids weren't happy with just having their vampire kingdom. They wanted more. They were like toddlers with sugar highs, plotting and scheming, trying to figure out how to break things.

And that's when it all went downhill. The first disappearance happened—some random townsfolk gone missing. Then, a few merchants. Then, a princess. And let me tell you, once a princess goes missing, that's when the drama hits the fan. It was basically like a bad soap opera with missing villagers and blood-sucking fiends. That's when war hit, and I was so not ready for it.

This time, I wasn't about to get all battle-crazy like last time. Nope. I had papers to sign, policies to adjust, new castle furniture to approve. It was Carmine's job to go kick some butt, and I promised him I wouldn't abandon him this time. He grumbled about it, but hey, it was his turn.

So Carmine, bless his heart, marched off with my really big army: twenty thousand blood knights, ten thousand regular troops, and a gaggle of vampires. Seriously, I couldn't even keep track of all their names.

I didn't want to get involved, though, so I sent them off with a very official "Good luck!" and "Don't get killed!" Then, I went back to some extremely important paperwork.

Now, unlike last time, where we were outnumbered and had to play catch-up, this time, Carmine was way more tactical. He didn't want to mess with castles or towns; he just wanted to squash the enemy right away. So, after three nights of super fast vampire action—think, "sprinting in armor like it's a high-speed chase"—he and his boys totally crushed the first Demi-human camp. I'm talking blood everywhere, and a lot of screaming. By the time dawn came, they had either escaped, died, or were shackled as blood slaves. You know, standard vampire stuff.

This totally messed up the other armies' morale, which was like an emotional win for us. So, now, the rest of the Demi-humans decided they needed to get their act together. They combined forces like some weird, super-motivated alliance, probably motivated by anger and dread of my superior vampires. But Carmine wasn't about to let that happen, no sir. He didn't just sit around. He sped across the land faster than a ninja with an espresso addiction.

When he arrived at the second camp, it was a whole new level of "oh no you didn't!" There were elves in this one. The fancy, super disciplined elves. And while my army was good, those elves were like vampires on steroids. Or maybe not—vampires do have their own powers, you know.

Carmine didn't even wait for sunset before his army charged. Swords flashing, blood spilling, general chaos. The elves didn't even know what hit them. Carmine, as usual, made sure to capture as many elves as possible (don't ask me why—he's got a thing for them), and while some managed to escape, many of them didn't.

The whole thing was a wild, slapstick bloodbath. And despite my best efforts to stay out of the mess, I couldn't help but think... maybe war wasn't so bad. After all, someone had to deal with all the mess, and unfortunately, it was Carmine. But hey, at least I didn't have to fight this time. That's progress, right?

So, here we are, right? Three armies completely wiped out. How did that even happen? I mean, I didn't even want to be in charge of all this. Seriously, this whole thing is a mess. First off, it wasn't like I had a master plan. It's not like I woke up one morning and thought, "Hey, today's the day I conquer the world!" No, no, no. That would've been too dignified. Instead, it was more like, "Oh, hey, I can make an army out of my kids. Whoops, they just wrecked three different armies and now I'm stuck with this whole 'ruler' thing." Super cool.

So, here's how it went down: First, my "army" (if you could even call them that) goes around stomping through the Demi-human forces like it's a Sunday stroll. I didn't even tell them to do it. But they did it anyway. Carmine—one of my kids, by the way—thought it'd be a "fun game" to just... destroy everything. And the worst part? It worked. Every time. Three separate armies, completely wiped out. Gone. Like, nothing left but dirt and shattered pride.

Now, you'd think that'd be a reason to celebrate, right? But no, I wasn't celebrating. I was just sitting there, staring at the mess, wondering how the heck I ended up in charge of this disaster. Honestly, I still don't know. I'm clearly not cut out for this. The idea that I—me, of all people—somehow ended up as the ruler of this half-wrecked kingdom is honestly baffling. And yet, here we are.

The worst part? The other nations start begging for peace. I wasn't even doing anything at this point. I just sat there, watching it all fall apart. And they're like, "Please, spare us. We'll give you tribute! We'll send you gold! Just, please, don't wipe us out like the last few guys!" And I'm like... uhhh, sure. I don't really know what I'm doing, but hey, free gold? Yeah, I'll take it.

But let's be real here, okay? It was stupidly easy. I didn't even need to try. My kids were doing most of the hard work, and I was just sitting back and watching it happen. I didn't even have a game plan. Honestly, at this point, I felt like I was just putting one foot in front of the other, hoping no one noticed I was making it all up as I went.

So what happens next? People start offering me things. "Oh, take this land!" "Take these riches!" "We'll send you the finest wines and cheeses! Please!" And I'm just like... "Okay, sure, whatever. I guess that works." You'd think I'd have some sense of pride, right? But nope. I'm too busy trying not to freak out about how much I've accidentally screwed up everything.

And then, of course, Carmine decides to go full nuclear. This kid's got no filter, no sense of boundaries. A few days later, the whole third army gets wiped out. And this time? Not even a single battle-worthy unit left standing. How? Honestly, I don't know. I didn't even tell them to attack. It just... happened. It's like I'm living in some messed-up alternate reality where I have no control over anything.

But the best part? The one that really makes me question everything? After all this carnage, the survivors—those that didn't literally drown in the mess—decided to join my side. Yeah, no joke. They were like, "You know what? Forget it. We're with you now, whether we like it or not. We'll fight for you." And I'm just sitting there like, "I didn't even ask for any of this." Like, are these people seriously signing up to follow me? The guy who's just making things up as he goes?

And here's the real kicker: In the span of a year—that's how long it took for all this—my "kingdom" grew to 1.2 million people. And what did I do to earn that? Nothing. I didn't even want it. It was a mistake! This whole thing is a joke, and I'm the punchline.

And yet, by some twisted miracle, I've got bloodlords now. Not one. Not two. Seven. All these people who probably think I know what I'm doing. I don't. I'm literally just winging it, hoping no one notices how out of my depth I am. They came up to me, offered their services, and I just... let them in. Sure, I gave them titles. But deep down? I have no clue how I'm supposed to manage this.

The best part? When I finally "ascended." Yeah, that's right. I—the guy who didn't even want this whole ruler gig—somehow became some kind of god, or whatever. And it wasn't even cool. It wasn't like some dramatic, "Yeah, I'm powerful now!" moment. Nah, it was just... meh. I didn't even notice the power at first. It just... happened. Like, one second I'm sitting in a pile of my own mess, and the next thing I know, I've got this whole god thing going on. Seriously, what even is this?

And here I am, sitting on top of a kingdom I didn't ask for, didn't plan for, and definitely don't deserve. People respect me, they follow me... and I have no clue why. I'm still just as clueless as the day this whole mess started. Like, really? These people think I've got it all together? Newsflash: I don't. Not even a little. But hey, I guess this is my life now. A life I didn't want. A life I didn't ask for. And yet, here I am, stuck with it. At this point, I guess I'm just going with it. Because what else can I do?

By nightfall, all two thousand elves had been turned. All second generation. Most of them owed their loyalty to one of their former leaders. Some had been chosen by the other Bloodlords, but they'd be too disconnected from each other to work well together.

And just like that, I've got three new clans looking after my rapidly expanding domains, with thousands of new Vampires to keep things in line. And honestly? I'm not sure if that's a good thing or not. These new Vampires seem... stronger than the ones who came from the Demi-humans. At least with the Demi-humans, you could count on their diversity to make them less... useful. Elves, though? They were all magically potent. And the ones I had turned? They were all skilled in some key way. Great candidates for this whole "gift" business, I guess.

Fast forward two years. I've got these new territories being managed by my newly turned Vampires. Some of them are doing... okay. Not great, but okay. The heartlands are still thriving, but the other lands? Not so much. Except for those managed by Karyusu. Seriously, that lizardman is running circles around me. The guy rules with wisdom and justice, and I can't help but think it's what my lands really need. But whatever. That's probably just wishful thinking.

Hell, even Carmine's been taking notes from Karyusu to improve his own territories. It's ridiculous, really. But I guess that's the world I'm stuck in.

And, of course, as always, after all the excitement, time keeps moving. Too quickly. Way too quickly. I mean, it's like being immortal completely messes with your sense of time. Two decades pass, and I barely notice. Sure, I can see the changes. The cities are expanding, the armies are getting bigger, the reports are getting way longer, and the clans are getting more belligerent with every passing year. But honestly? It's just... whatever. It's all just one big blur.

Years, man. Years just keep slipping by, and my kingdom keeps growing, and I just keep working. Day in, day out. My life feels like it's on autopilot. I'm living in some weird, never-ending routine, and I'm not even sure if I'm still alive in any real sense anymore. At least, that's how it feels.

But then—oh, then, I get this report. A big one. Apparently, there's a castle floating in the sky now. Cool, right? And some Draconic Demi-gods who are all like, "Oh, we're here to fight the inhuman tide that's threatening to destroy humanity!" Because, you know, that's totally what I need in my already completely overwhelming life. Great.

One hundred and twelve years since I showed up, and ninety-seven since I founded Relyirica. And now? The Greed Kings have arrived. And here I am, hoping I've done enough to prepare for whatever mess they're bringing. I honestly have no idea. But I guess we'll find out soon enough.

---

My name is Osmin, and I am terrified.

You know that feeling when your heart's pounding so loud that you're pretty sure the whole world can hear it? That's me right now. My legs are moving just fine, but inside, it's like a whole circus is happening, and I can't find the exit. Every day I get more and more anxious. I can only think about all the terrible things that might happen, and by the time the sun sets, I'm practically a nervous wreck. But then, just when I think I might faint, I remember that the Lords are here, and their presence gives me just enough courage to keep putting one foot in front of the other.

So, here's the thing: I wasn't even supposed to be part of this war. Nope. Not my scene. The Lords didn't call for me during the levy, so I figured I was off the hook. But then, the day before the big march, I got hit with a wave of guilt. My friends, my brothers, my neighbors—they all got chosen to fight. And here I am, just standing in the background like a loser.

I mean, how could I not join? It felt cowardly to stay behind while everyone else went off to war. So, I volunteered. Great decision, right? Totally. I joined the other levied folks who were going through drills and preparing for the battle ahead.

Training was… well, let's just say, it wasn't a walk in the park. The officers were like over-caffeinated drill sergeants, and I started to regret my life choices pretty quickly. But hey, we powered through. We trained hard with spears and shields, and over time, we became an army—or at least, we looked like one. I mean, who even needs to be good at fighting when you can stand in a line and look imposing, right?

Two months later, we were marched eastward to join one of the larger armies under the command of a very important Clan Lord. And how did they greet us? Let's just say, no one was exactly popping confetti in the air. We got a "Welcome to the war. You're probably going to die" speech from our commander, Imralin. And let me tell you, this guy did not have the warm and fuzzy vibe I was hoping for. He was a half-Elf, and his greeting? Cool as a cucumber, like he'd seen it all and didn't have time for small talk. "You're gonna die. Get over it," he basically said.

And that's how we spent the next few weeks—marching, eating, drilling, and basically waiting for something to happen. Spoiler alert: nothing happened. We didn't see any enemies. At all. We were just out there, walking through endless forests, like the world's worst nature hike.

But yesterday—oh boy—rumors started flying that we were about to fight. Big surprise. Some scout found an army, and the Clan Lord decided, "Hey, let's attack them before they get reinforcements." I'm just over here hoping to survive the walk, but no, now I'm heading into an actual battle. Great. Fantastic. What could go wrong?

So here I am, marching with my cohort down the kingdom's roads. My boots are hitting the stone so loudly, I swear we sound like a herd of cows stomping through the countryside. Everyone else seems a little more confident than me, but I'm trying to hold it together. I mean, maybe if I fake it, no one will notice I'm shaking like a leaf in the wind.

And then, out of nowhere, the most unexpected thing happens. Our commander, Imralin himself, turns to me and says, "Calm down. You're making it worse for yourself."

Great. The leader of the army—this big, badass warrior—turns to me and tells me to calm down. He could probably smell my fear or something, like some kind of superpower. He goes on to tell me that everyone feels this way before their first battle, and that, if I survive, I'll eventually get used to it. I'm just over here hoping I survive the next five minutes, let alone become some kind of battle-hardened veteran.

In a burst of curiosity (or maybe stupidity), I ask him, "Have you fought the Eight before, sire? The ones we're going to battle?"

Imralin just laughs and says, "Oh yes, I've fought them… nine times now."

Excuse me? Nine? How old is this guy, 200? No wait, he's closer to 400! He talks about wars like it's no big deal, spinning his spear around like he's in some kind of mystical dance recital. He's so smooth with it, I almost forget he's about to lead us into battle. Almost.

He continues on, giving us some pep talk that's way too intense for my liking. He says the enemies think of us as monsters, so we should act like them. Be the monster they fear. "Slaughter them all!" he declares, like he's auditioning for a role in an action movie.

And you know what? It works. Because suddenly, I'm feeling it. Like, I've gone from nervous wreck to full-on bloodthirsty weirdo. I can almost see myself tearing through the enemy lines, spitting like a rabid dog. It's weird, but it's like the fear is suddenly gone—replaced by some wild instinct I didn't know I had.

The chant starts. "Hail Imralin! May he reign eternal!" and I'm chanting too. I don't even know why. It's like the whole army's in some kind of hypnotic trance. The enemy doesn't stand a chance. Or so I thought, until she steps forward.

She's… well, okay, she's weird. Like, really weird. She could be a lizard person, but not quite—more like a weird dragon cousin you'd find at a family reunion and immediately regret talking to. She's got wings, a tail, and scales in all the wrong places, like someone got a bit too excited with the fantasy design tool. And then, boom, there she is—the servant of the Eight, strolling forward like she's the final boss in a video game, ready to ruin everyone's day. And suddenly, the humans find their second wind and—voila!—they're actually ready to fight.

So, that's how I ended up here. Preparing for the battle of my life, surrounded by a bunch of soldiers who think they're monsters, but secretly, I'm just over here hoping I don't trip over my own feet and cause a scene. Like, can you imagine being the guy who trips and falls on the enemy's spear? What a way to go.

Not long after her dramatic entrance, the Clan Lord himself steps forward, flanked by two High Lords. I kid you not, they were a glorious trio—three Elves in slick runic plate armor, looking like they walked straight out of a fantasy calendar, all shiny and perfect. Honestly, they looked like gods among mortals, the kind of people you'd stare at and wonder how you even got in the same room. These guys were it. They were supposed to decide how the battle went. If they won, we all went home in a victory parade. If they lost? Well, death's a pretty solid guarantee at that point.

I tried to ignore the drama. I mean, what could I really do? I'm not exactly in their league, and I don't think my "accidentally tripping" skills were going to be of much help in a fight between Demi-gods.

So I focused on the humans up ahead. They were closing in, and I could practically taste the blood on the breeze, like it was a new kind of seasoning. Things were getting real now. I was almost too distracted by it all, almost tripping over my own clumsy feet when the command came.

"Charge!"

Suddenly, I was no longer walking like a normal, reasonable person—nope, I was sprinting across the field like my life depended on it. And, well, technically, it did. At my sides, my cohort wasn't far behind, some even ahead of me, probably because they had longer legs or more enthusiasm. We closed the gap with the human lines fast, and I gotta admit, I wasn't exactly confident about what was coming.

The humans had their shields locked in, their lines as firm as the concrete at a construction site. Spears rattled in the wind, and their eyes were hard with determination, probably thinking they were about to stop the flood of chaos that was about to hit them. But you know what? All that did was make it way more fun when we slammed into their shields and knocked them down like bowling pins.

And then—BAM! I was in the action. I barely even knew how, but there I was, in the thick of it, spear in hand, and a totally inappropriate grin plastered on my face. Their armor didn't even slow me down, and my spear—wow, my spear was angry. It was like a fang tearing through them, and before I knew it, my shield became a battering ram and I was stomping on soldiers like they were empty soda cans.

I could barely keep track of what was happening. People were stabbing at me, trying to poke holes in me like I was some kind of discount pincushion, but it didn't really faze me. Their bodies were weak, their fear even weaker. I could practically smell the fear in the air, thick and tangy, like a rotten perfume.

And then he showed up.

Like some mystical swan gliding through water, the Clan Lord—Imralin, I think his name was—was in the middle of it all, moving like he was the one who made the battlefield and we were all just living in it. His spear was like a laser beam, cutting through enemies like they were paper, and not a single blade came close to touching him. I, on the other hand, was just doing my best to stay upright and avoid dying in the most embarrassing way possible.

We were berserkers, monsters made flesh, wreaking havoc among the human lines. Imralin, though, he was a scalpel—elegant, precise, and completely untouchable. He was like the fancy surgeon of the battlefield, while I was just the guy who would probably knock over a surgeon's toolbox and trip over my own weapon.

Eventually, the slaughter started to blur together. There was so much blood. I was covered in it, breathing heavily, my heart pounding in my chest like it was trying to escape. I fought and fought, even when the human lines reformed and started pushing us back. Their spears kept stabbing into me, drawing blood, and honestly, it stung. But the Clan Lord's words kept echoing in my head: "You are the monster. Monsters are what they fear."

So I kept fighting, because apparently, that's what monsters do. Even when the blood made the ground slippery and I couldn't tell if I was running or sliding, I was still charging forward. Because, in the end, I wasn't going to let some dumb humans get the better of me. Not today. Not when I was this close to just tripping into a victory.

The drums were beating in my ears now, louder than ever. Even when I couldn't hear anything else, even when I went deaf from all the noise, the drums just kept going. When the spear went through my heart, the drums kept drumming. When another pierced my leg and I started losing all my feeling, the drums kept drumming.

And even as I was crushed under the weight of the human mob, with the ground slipping beneath me, the drums kept drumming. They never stopped. They kept going, even as the world went dark.

---

I watched as yet another of the mortals crumpled under the human assault. This particular one had been the talkative type, all bluster and blubbering fear. Honestly, if he wasn't so good at running his mouth, he might've been able to save himself. But nope. He just kept babbling about how much he was totally going to make it out alive. Yeah, sure. If there's one thing I've learned in this war, it's that the ones who talk the most are usually the ones who die the fastest. The only silver lining? His panic was super effective at turning the tide in our favor. That's right, folks—nothing quite like a soldier who's so scared he accidentally turns into a walking, talking bloodbath.

Oh, and did I mention that I'm the one who has to make sure this mess goes smoothly? I—the one who's in charge of these chaotic, barely-restrained animals. I mean, come on, if you gave a Demi-human a weapon and told them to "go forth and slaughter," you'd probably get a scene out of some bad comedy sketch. That's exactly how it is, though—give them just enough training to make them obey orders, then unleash them with a frenzy spell that turns them into berserk, muscle-bound chaos machines. And if they kill a few hundred humans in the process, hey, I'll take credit. Maybe. If I'm not too busy dodging swords.

Yeah, it's super fun leading a group of shock troops. Let me tell you, it's like being the unlucky guy who gets to stand in front of the freight train just to let the actual heavy hitters get their kills. But hey, at least I wasn't the one who tripped and fell face-first into a mud pit. Well, not yet. It's only a matter of time, really.

Anyway, my spear was dancing through the air like a twisted ballet performance. Stab, slash, twist, dodge. I was a graceful blur of death, or I'd like to think so, considering my armor was squealing and scraping against me like a banshee on meth. Honestly, if someone had just thrown a spear at me and called it a day, I'd probably have considered it a mercy.

I was in the thick of it, though. The real kicker? I couldn't even drink from any of the corpses I'd slaughtered. I mean, seriously, there I am, slashing my way through hundreds of humans, barely scraping by, and I can't even get a decent meal. Talk about a raw deal. What's the point of being an elite fighter if you can't snack on your kills? Ugh.

Finally, after what felt like a few lifetimes of dodging, weaving, and barely keeping my insides on the inside, I retreated. The rest of my forces were dead, so naturally, it was time for me to execute the highly dignified maneuver of running away like a chicken who just realized it was way out of its depth. And, of course, I managed to get a lovely new injury to add to my collection. A human blade managed to sneak past my defenses, getting way too close to my tendon. Oops. Almost ruined my whole day.

But hey, I'm not that bad at escaping. With a flip and a well-timed jab, the human went down, and I was back behind my lines like some kind of war hero... except for the fact that I was seriously bleeding, totally exhausted, and trying very hard not to notice the fact that I had just been absolutely useless for the last hour.

The Blood Knights had already stepped in by then, like the grownups in the room. They were so much better at this. They were grinding the human forces down, making sure everything was going according to plan—while I was basically just over here doing my best impression of a wounded animal that had no business being on the battlefield.

I mean, seriously. The Demi-human berserkers were still alive. Not even all of them had died yet! I swear, these things just wouldn't quit. And the Blood Knights were picking off the human survivors with the ease of a predator swatting at flies. Meanwhile, I'm just standing in the background like a guy who showed up to the wrong party and really doesn't want to be here anymore.

Then—oh, then—came the best part. The real treat. In the sky above the battle, that was where the real fun was happening. The Servant of the Eight, or whatever, was up there duking it out with the High Lords. Of course, it was all super impressive. They're all super powerful and everything. So much power, in fact, that I was nearly knocked out of the fight just by the sheer force of their presence. But hey, no biggie. The High Lords were struggling, sure, but they were winning.

Then—wait for it—the Servant of the Eight broke off and flew straight at the human lines. And here's where the real magic happened. The humans were about to unleash something—a power I hadn't felt in ages. And by "something," I mean a King. The last time I felt fear like this was the time I nearly crapped my pants when the First Lord showed up to personally scold me for being so bad at everything.

It was over. I knew it. And that, my dear friends, was when I had my finest moment yet: I laughed. I laughed like a man who had just been served the most bitter cup of failure in all his miserable, miserable existence.

But hey, no worries, right? I'd go out swinging. They were going to think they were invincible. They thought this was the turning point. Yeah, you and your big, bad King are gonna waltz right in, huh? We'll see about that. You can't beat me. Or, you know, you probably can, but I'm gonna make sure you really regret it.

---

I was called Carmine Fiend-Slayer, First Born of the First Born, Aspect Lord of Blood, and of course, the greatest of the Kindred. But in this moment, I was simply Carmine, the guy who was—yet again—stuck in a ridiculously dramatic battle with some overinflated, tail-waving, muscle-headed Greed King.

Across from me, this Greed King—who looked like he'd been hitting the gym so hard that even his muscles needed therapy—stood, clearly not appreciating the sheer level of destruction I was unleashing upon him. My sword was coated in his blood, and my arm was covered in more scratches than a child's first attempt at drawing. Yet he still looked like he thought he had a chance. Adorable.

His tail swung around, almost lazily, as he wiped blood from his lip. "You're holding up better than I expected, I'll give you that," he grinned. "But this ends here. I am the mightiest of the Kindred."

I blinked, seriously considering his words. "The what now? Did you just say you're a 'Kindred'?" I shook my head. "I don't know what that means, but I'm certain I'm about to end you either way."

The Greed King let out a laugh like a wet dog caught in a rainstorm. "Oh, you're one of those kinds. Alright, well, we'll see how long that attitude lasts when you're melted into the floor, huh?"

"Right," I muttered, more to myself than him. "Melting me, huh? Sure, okay, I've got all day for this."

And then he did the thing. He opened his mouth, and a jet of fire exploded toward me like he thought he was some kind of dragon. I sidestepped with the kind of grace that only someone who definitely knew how to walk without tripping could manage. The flames singed my cloak, but I didn't even flinch. I didn't have time for his tricks.

"Impressive," I said, genuinely unbothered. "But fire's an old trick. I've dealt with worse. Like that time I was nearly roasted by a chimera with a personal vendetta and an unhealthy amount of time on its hands."

He blinked at me, clearly thinking I was joking. "What?"

"No time to explain," I said, raising my sword with a sudden flourish. "I'm too busy slaughtering your sorry hide."

I leapt forward, my sword in hand, and with a single slash, I cut through his armor like it was made of wet paper. He gasped, staggering back, holding his chest where my strike had landed.

"You— You're strong," he wheezed, clearly flustered. "But you're not unbeatable."

"Hmm, yes. I am indeed strong," I said, in what I hoped was a very nonchalant manner. "But also, I'm a bit confused. What exactly are you supposed to be? Greed King, right? A big, important title?"

He tried to recover, his arrogance pushing through his growing pain. "You don't know what you're up against, do you? I'm one of the seven Kings of the—"

"Seven Kings?" I interrupted, raising an eyebrow. "Wait, there's seven of you? Is this, like, a team thing? Are you guys like a band or something? Because, I gotta be honest, your aesthetic? It's a little off. You look like someone took a big chunk of vanity and slapped it onto a monstrous body."

The Greed King, completely flustered, stood there staring at me like I'd just kicked over his prized collection of ugly trophies. "What are you even talking about? Do you not realize what I am capable of?"

I glanced around. "I know you've got some fire breath, but you're still just a guy in a shiny suit. Do you do anything else? You look like the type who orders all his meals through delivery apps and gets his armor polished by someone else."

He sputtered in rage. "I— I am a King! I am the embodiment of greed, of power, and—"

"Right, right, yes, of course," I interrupted again, seriously starting to lose interest. "Listen, I'm just trying to keep track here. I deal with so many different things that I can't keep it all straight. I'm clearly dealing with someone who has major ego problems. Is this a bad time to ask if you happen to have a magic power? Or are you just swinging that oversized tail around like it's a comedy prop?"

His face turned purple with fury, and before I could take another step, his tail lashed out at me. But I'd already seen it coming (because I've dealt with lots of angry tails in my time), and dodged just in time.

Wham!

The tail struck the ground, and a hole the size of a small car was left in the earth. "Oh, lovely," I muttered, rolling my eyes. "What's next? Are we going to have an angry windstorm now?"

"You are mocking me!" he screamed, finally unleashing his full fury.

"Mocking you? No, no," I said, shaking my head. "I'm being realistic. You've got a big mouth and a fancy tail, but you're not nearly as scary as you think you are."

The Greed King finally gathered his remaining strength, his hands crackling with dark energy. "I will destroy you, you insolent worm!"

I looked at him with complete seriousness. "Listen, buddy, I've been doing this for a long time. And every time someone says they're going to 'destroy' me, I think, 'How cute. Another person who doesn't realize they're about to be an afterthought in my next victory speech.'"

With that, I lunged forward, my sword slashing in a beautiful arc that sliced through his energy shield, his tail, and everything else that got in the way. The Greed King didn't even have time to react before he collapsed in a heap, barely able to breathe, much less continue his villain monologue.

"See? Told you it was cute. But now," I said, brushing some dust off my sleeve as I looked at his fading form, "we can get back to more important things—like finding out what's going on with this 'Greed King' nonsense. You guys are all too weird for me."

And as the battle ended, I couldn't help but sigh. What was with all these strange creatures and their overblown titles? Couldn't they just be a bit more... direct? Less complicated?

"Guess I'll find out soon enough," I muttered, preparing for the next absurd battle.

---

Eleven years, three hundred twenty-three thousand dead Demi-humans, two hundred and eleven thousand dead humans, twelve thousand dead Kindred... I guess I should be proud, right? Proud of how well I've managed to be the architect of this absolute disaster. I mean, really, who else could screw things up this royally and still keep showing up to work?

Oh, and the Kings—don't even get me started on them. Two permanently killed, another two resurrected. It's like a bad game of whack-a-mole, except the moles are way stronger than me, and I'm the one getting whacked. Oh, and don't forget about my Firstborn—six dead. I mean, it's a bit embarrassing, honestly. Six of my best warriors out of the picture, and what do I have to show for it? Absolutely nothing, except a headache that feels like a thousand hangovers and no alcohol to blame.

As for the forests? Gone. Yeah, the entire Demi-human kingdom once had these lush, towering woods that were like the crown jewels of my lands, and now? It's just a barren wasteland of war machines and sawdust. Great job, me. And the Eastern provinces? Well, they're just a memory now, like my dignity. Lost, retaken, lost again... It's like I'm running a terrible hotel where the rooms keep getting blown up. How do I manage to fail this spectacularly?

And then there's the war... It's still going, you know? Despite all of my stellar leadership and amazing tactical decisions (which, to be fair, mostly involved yelling at people until they ran off), my kingdom's hanging by a thread. Sure, I've got a few of my Bloodlords who are halfway decent at fighting, but who am I kidding? The Kings have me outclassed in every single way. It's like bringing a knife to a gunfight, except the knife's rusty and I forgot to sharpen it.

I'll admit it, I made some questionable decisions along the way. Like the whole "no mixing of bloodlines" thing. Yeah, that was a hit, right? I should've just given everyone access to a buffet of power-ups or something. Instead, here I am, watching my people die in droves while I sit on my high horse (well, my slightly elevated, metaphorical horse, because my actual horse got killed in the first battle).

So, there I am, watching my capital get obliterated—magma flowing, buildings crumbling, people screaming—while I'm standing around like the world's biggest idiot. My great city of... whatever it was called, gone. Poof. Just like my career. And what do I do? I do nothing. That's right. When Carmine, bless his soul, called out for help, then I decided to do something, but at that point, it was way too late. Not like I could've stopped it, anyway. I can barely stop myself from tripping over my own feet.

I finally shift forms. Big dramatic entrance, wings spread, roaring like I'm some kind of ancient god. And what happens? Ten minutes later, I'm getting my butt handed to me by NPCs. I'm not even mad. I'm just... tired. I kill them all, sure. But it's like swatting flies with a sledgehammer. They keep coming, and I'm just... here, trying my best to look menacing.

And then the magic. Oh boy, the magic. It's like every time I try to do something right, the universe goes "Nope!" and slaps me across the face with a Super-tier spell. You ever get hit with a spell that makes the whole world shake like a toddler on a sugar high? Because I just did. My shield breaks, the world shatters, and my city? Well, at least it went out with a bang.

So there I am, flailing around, watching everything I've ever known sink into the earth. It's like watching my own life fall apart, but in HD. The screams of my people, the carnage... It's like I'm the disaster. The final punchline to a joke I never knew I was part of.

And me? Well, I just keep failing upwards. Maybe next time, I'll finally get it right. Probably not, though.

When I finally hit the ground, I felt nothing. No pain, no panic—just... numbness. A perfect state of indifference. The Greed Kings had won. Big shocker, right? Not like I expected to win after I failed spectacularly for the millionth time. Without me and my Kin to stop them, they'd go on to conquer the world or whatever. Who knows? Maybe they'll fall into infighting and implode—though, given how that timeline's been going, I wouldn't bet on it.

Anyway, just as I was considering giving up and accepting my fate—who am I kidding, I was totally about to give up—a little thing called "rage" decided to kick in. Yeah, because apparently, when everything's falling apart, it's rage that saves you. So, instead of lying there and feeling sorry for myself (which was definitely tempting), I noticed a weirdly strong aura of power nearby. So naturally, I dodged the attack that was coming right for me. And I'll be honest, it wasn't hard. I mean, I've gotten pretty good at dodging death.

One second I'm on the ground, contemplating life choices (or lack thereof), and the next, I'm standing ten feet away, swords in hand, like some kind of overdramatic hero in a bad movie. I think I shouted something like, "Come out and fight, cowards! To think such an obvious attempt on my life would succeed is the height of arrogance!"

Yeah, I'm pretty sure I was just trying to sound tough. My voice came out more growl than aristocrat, but hey, it's not like I was winning any acting awards today. The rage helped, though—raging works wonders when you can barely think straight. Arrogance, on the other hand, is a luxury for the courts, and I had clearly graduated beyond that.

The leader of the Greed Kings showed up with her dramatic entrance, and—surprise, surprise—she had to be gorgeous. Part dragon, part elf, nearly as tall as me, with fire-engine red hair and eyes that could melt stone. Seriously, was she genetically engineered for this? Oh, and of course, she had a warrior queen vibe, like something out of a mythology book. I should've been intimidated, but you know what? I wasn't.

In fact, I think I might have just hit a new personal low, because as I stared at her, I thought to myself: God, she's the most hideous thing I've ever seen.

Sure, she had the looks, the power, the whole demi-god thing going for her, but all I could think was: Why does this woman even exist? The horror of her presence was like some cosmic joke, and I was the punchline.

"You must be aware of the destruction you've caused, mongrel," she said, her voice dripping with that smug, superior tone. "It's not hard to figure out what someone like you would do when they fail."

I wanted to respond with something clever. You know, a witty retort about how her face looked like someone took a hammer to a porcelain doll. But instead, I just flexed my swords awkwardly and said, "I know exactly what you're thinking, lady. I've been there. Conqueror who's lost it all, yadda yadda yadda." I could barely get the words out through the rage, but whatever.

She laughed, and it was this breathy, sensual sound that made me want to scream and vomit at the same time. "You talk a lot for someone who just lost," she said, stepping closer. "Didn't you see the wreckage around you?"

Oh, I saw it. But let's be honest—I wasn't about to stop talking. It's what I do best when I'm caught in an impossible situation.

Then the real fun started. "Vampires usually keep it quiet," she said to one of her goons—some guy named Nao. "But this one? He's... defective?" She wasn't wrong, really. I was kind of a mess, but at least I wasn't the one standing in front of me with her face.

The other Kings started talking like I was some sort of failed side quest. They went on and on about "data crystals" and "loot" like we were in some sort of video game. It was honestly insulting. But hey, when you're on the losing end of things, it's hard to find dignity.

Something in me snapped. "I'm not some NPC for you to farm, alright? This is real life, and when I kill you, there's no respawn. No loot. No takebacks," I snarled. Which, in hindsight, was the most dramatic thing I'd said all day. I was too far gone at that point. Rage, right?

And then, for no real reason other than sheer stupidity, I charged. My power surged—maybe too much—but who cares? The world turned red. My swords gleamed like they were forged by a drunk blacksmith, and I was suddenly the most powerful thing on the battlefield.

Only... wait. They didn't seem to be dead yet? How?! How was I not winning? Wasn't this supposed to be the part where the underdog triumphs? No, instead I was like a mosquito to them, buzzing around their overpowered bodies, while they lazily swatted me away.

I got a few good hits in—here and there—mostly on their exposed limbs, but they were faster, stronger, and more ridiculous than I could've ever imagined. Each strike felt like I was swinging at a wall, and the only thing keeping me from crashing was the fact that I was too stubborn to give up.

So there I was, flailing around like a madman, my moves getting progressively dumber. Eventually, I got a hit in. I think it was on the smallest one? Yeah, the magical guy who thought he was untouchable. But he forgot one little thing: I'm stubborn as hell. I bit him, literally. Took a nice chunk out of his neck. Aaaaaand then—boom! Power surge. I felt like I'd just eaten a whole turkey dinner after a 3-day fast.

Finally, finally, something clicked. The Greed Kings—those once-invincible demi-gods—looked pissed. And you know what? So was I. At this point, I was running on pure chaos and rage, and I swear to whatever deity wasn't paying attention, I wasn't going down without taking a few of them with me.

They were letting loose, and I—well, I was doing my best not to fall apart, which, let's be real, is an impossible task at this point. My blades were barely grazing them, and my magic wasn't even good enough for a bad horror movie special effect. Sure, I inflicted some cuts, but they had barely flinched. Meanwhile, my own body was turning into a walking disaster. Arms? Gone. Legs? Shattered. Head? Probably still somewhere back in the dirt. Chest? Well, it looked like a sad balloon that had been stabbed with a thousand needles. My heart? Poof. Gone, like a bad idea in a dream.

But, hey, not all was lost! As long as a little magic stayed in my soul, I couldn't die. My body was the most frustrating jigsaw puzzle you could imagine. I'd lose a piece here, regrow it there, but it never quite fit right. Still, I kept going, because I guess I was too stubborn to quit. I mean, who wouldn't want to fight through a complete body overhaul every five seconds?

Then, in a shocking twist of fate, the second King went down. One quick swing, and boom, his head was rolling like a poorly placed bowling ball. I guess my blades were doing something right after all. I drank his blood—gross, but hey, who's judging?—and bam, I was back in business. Well, kinda. I felt like I was about one bad decision away from passing out.

I was winning! (Kind of.) It wasn't so much a victory as it was me just being too tough to kill, but I was rolling with it. My opponents were getting tired, but I was still... well, somewhat functional. Unfortunately, that's when they decided to go full power mode and pull out the big guns. The queen—oh, great, the queen—pulled out this massive crystal blade that looked like it belonged in a jewelry store, not a battlefield. Seriously, who designs this stuff? That's your trump card?

Anyway, she wasn't the slow-moving joke I had been laughing at before. She was fast. She was strong. She was… lethal. The blade practically buzzed with power, and when it cut into me, I swear I heard my soul scream. It was like the universe itself had decided to kick me while I was down. (It was a very "kick-me" moment, in case you didn't catch that.)

I tried everything. Blocking? Didn't work. Dodging? Laughable. Retreating? Oh, sure, that went well—if by "retreating" you mean losing a leg in the process. So, there I was, hopping around on one leg like a maniac, thinking, "Sure, this is fine, this is totally how I imagined this day going."

But it only got worse. Now they were working as a team—because, of course, they were—and I was on the defensive. I tried to fight back, but let's be honest, I was like a broken piñata at a party. The pain was next-level. It was the kind of pain where you wish for sweet, sweet unconsciousness, but no. My body wouldn't let me die.

And just when I thought it couldn't get worse, they hit me with the real betrayal. They drained my soul like it was an all-you-can-drink buffet. My aura started flickering out like a lightbulb on its last leg. I was almost out of magic. Almost. Which is exactly when I decided to flee—because who doesn't love a good dramatic escape? But, nope. They destroyed my wings—again. My body's regeneration was as slow as a dial-up internet connection, and before I could make it to the nearest exit, I hit the ground. Hard. And broke my other leg.

Now, I'm grounded. I'm in pain. And they're coming for me. If there was ever a moment to accept my fate and just die, this would be it. So I gave them my best "do your worst" speech. You know, the classic. "Go ahead. Kill me. Claim your thrones. Just know I'll be haunting you from beyond the grave."

...Except they didn't. There was no satisfying swoosh of a blade through my neck. No dramatic last breath. Nothing. Just silence. I opened my eyes, and there I was, floating. Floating again. Apparently, Carmine and Ucelia had decided that I was too important to die or something, and shocker, they'd saved me.

Carmine was the one who broke the news. His voice was full of the kind of exhaustion you get when you've made too many bad decisions. "We saved you, my lord. Karyusu dove in front of the blade for you, and I… well, I had to max out my powers just to grab you before they could finish you off."

Oh, great. So, Karyusu died for me. Cool. I didn't even get to thank him properly before I turned into a squashed pancake. We flew through the air for hours, and I couldn't think of anything to say. Nothing. How do you even talk after that?

Eventually, I had to make a decision. We were hiding now. Because, why not? The world was in ruins, but hey, at least we were still alive—sort of. And when their reign came to an end, I'd be ready to rise up and rebuild... after a really long nap.

But for now? I would just sit here, buried in self-pity, desperately hoping that one day I'd figure out how to stop making everything go wrong. Spoiler alert: I won't. But I'll keep trying, because apparently, that's my thing now.