Ilyara was done pushing the coffee table and lavish small carpet aside. She now kneeled on the hardwood floor, then sank her fangs into her wrist, slightly frowning as dark purple liquid flowed out. Her dark red blood had changed.
She shook her head—she had no time for contemplation. Time was of the essence. She closed her eyes, trying to remember the runes from her father's forbidden ritual tomes.
Vampires have enhanced minds and can recall things instantly—unless it has something to do with ancient texts imbued with power, even on a mere piece of paper.
Blood fuels that power, and recitation tethers it to the physical world. It is well known that power is derived from planes, mystical realms, souls, and more.
Ilyara could now remember the text, but she couldn't recite the runes—she wasn't well-versed in that ancient language. But luckily for her, this was a sort of sacrificial ritual, so it didn't require much study—just an idiot desperate enough to try.
She opened her eyes, which flashed with cold light. She looked down. The floor had a puddle of dark purple blood. Her wound had already closed.
She dipped her finger in the blood and started writing on both sides of the small puddle. When she was done, she stood up and carried Silver, princess-style. She placed him on top of the rune letters written on the right, his hand carefully laid on the blood puddle.
When she was done, she laid down on the other side. She placed her hand on the puddle—and that was all that was needed, as the room began to dim, lit with a purple aura.
She shuddered at the icy cold sensation running down her back, trying not to think about what she was about to lose.
Souls aren't what empower vampires, so I'm safe in that aspect—but they are tied to our emotions. So... would I lose my love for Silver if I lose it? I don't want that. But it's all my fault to begin with. I don't deserve him. But on the silver lining... after this ritual, we will be bound forever.
What is often overlooked is that Ilyara is insane. There was another method of vampirism—easier, cleaner. It would have turned Silver into a lich, granting him two forms.
While it came with its own terrifying price, there was no risk of soul loss. But Ilyara didn't care about such things. All she wanted was to be bound to Silver at all costs. And the process of devil-bound vampirism takes that to an extreme, literal level.
•••
Fifth Veil Layer Hell Realm — The Hollow Furnace of Despair:
Xal'Verith, an unspeakably grotesque devil entity, was a being whose form defied mortal comprehension. Its body resembled a skeletal crown fused with writhing tendrils of flesh and obsidian bone.
His true form towered over a large mortal town in the First Veil Layer. His lidless eye burned with red-black fire deep within a constantly warping face, overlooking the restless souls feeding off their own despair.
Its wings were like torn parchment threaded with living veins.
At the current moment, he was extremely bored. It had been thousands of years since the Ones Who Hunger for Blood from the Second Veil Layer had called upon him to turn their enemies into their kind.
As a God-level entity of terrifying might and eldritch origin, he should have had the freedom to do as he pleased. Yet he was bound to this place, restricted from movement unless summoned—all thanks to that detestable First Blood Hunger: a Devourer of the Gluttony Concept.
Xal'Verith let out a hoarse exhale that drove many souls into wailing despair as they relived their worst moments.
They say the soul and flesh are separate entities. There might be some truth to this, as many of the souls here had identities separate from their former bodies.
As Xal'Verith pondered the nature of soul and flesh, a flash of crimson light bearing runic sigils shone in the sky, summoning him.
An involuntary twisted smile tugged at his lips. "Finally," 'he' said, causing many souls to evaporate into wisps of smoke from the sheer power of his words.
•••
Ilyara looked up at the ceiling as purple runic sigils flashed with an ominous aura, shaking the very air she breathed. A terrifying devil emerged from them.
It was only one and a half meters tall, yet its terrifying appearance and smile sent shivers down her spine. It carefully descended, studying them with its lidless eye.
Her heart thudded with both fear and excitement. She was always fascinated by the strange and mystical—even by vampire standards—because her family had always hidden so much from her.
•••
Xal'Verith touched the ground and observed the boy and girl. 'He' was immediately fascinated. They smelled strange—especially the boy.
"This one's soul, body, and blood have been tainted… corrupted by something ancient, long dead, long forgotten. Strange… I sense something familiar in this power. It makes me shudder."
'He' then looked toward the watchful girl.
"And this one… her blood flows with a familiar power. A family long suppressed on the Second Veil Layer after its ancestry caused havoc lifetimes ago. A succubus. What's more, she's been touched by the Shadow. What's Nyxarion playing at? Is she colluding with Lilix'thara?"
Xal'Verith broke from his contemplation when he sensed the boy's soul barely clinging to the flesh. 'He' kneeled between the two, tearing their T-shirts and leaving them bare.
'He' sensed anger in the girl but didn't care—he did not desire the flesh, only the soul. Using 'his' clawed index fingers, 'he' performed a precise surgical incision on both of them.
'He' started with the boy, opening up his ribcage to access the heart—carefully, because 'he' was still mortal despite the ancient power flowing through him.
'He' then proceeded to do the same to the girl, ignoring her groans of pain and focusing on his work.
When 'he' was done, 'he' carefully ripped out the girl's heart, and then the boy's, manipulating their blood flow to pause momentarily.
'He' swapped their hearts and roughly cauterized the veins with his hell flames. The first step was complete. Now, the next.
'He' opened a small wound on 'his' finger and let a drop of blood land on their hearts, then began reciting the words that bind. Silver's eyes shot open, glowing with eerie silver light, and a painful cry tore from his mouth.
Ilyara wasn't far behind—she too let out a tortured scream. Their hearts began beating erratically, yet rhythmically in sync with each other.
Silver began changing—his skin becoming a dull grey, his eyes forming spirals, canines extending, hair growing longer and taking a silvery tone. Runes etched themselves onto his skin, burning painfully.
Xal'Verith's sadistic smile widened, twisted. 'He' enjoyed their screams—their pain—feeding off it. It reminded 'him' how much he missed those with flesh.
"All that's left is for them to feed off each other's blood. Then the bind will take effect. Unfortunately, my work here is done—it's time to take my payment."
While Xal'Verith was practically drooling, unable to contain 'his' excitement over acquiring perfect new souls, 'he' suddenly shuddered. Something in the air felt… wrong.
'He' looked toward the source and saw the boy looking straight at 'him' with eerie calm. 'He' tried to sense any negative emotion—but there was none. The boy felt more like a machine than one of the flesh.
"Who are you?" 'he' asked, speaking in Simple Devil Tongue, recognizing the wisp of a soul that had taken over the boy's body.
"It doesn't matter. All I ask is that you don't take either of their souls."
"And if I do?"
"Then I'll send Death to your doorstep."
Xal'Verith suddenly felt something 'touch 'him'—and 'he' felt fear. True fear—for the first time in a long while.
The boy smiled coldly. "Don't worry. I'll compensate for your loss."
"With what?"
"Your freedom."
"That's impossible unless…" 'He' trailed off, his lidless eyes flashing with crimson light.
"Where?" 'he' asked.
The boy chuckled. A dry, mirthless chuckle.
"You'll find it when you return."
"What if you're lying?"
"I'm not. Either way, you still have a mark on these two. You can take their souls any time—if I'm truly lying. But know this: if you try something after getting that… you'll wish you were dead."
After saying so, the boy's body shuddered, then fell unconscious. Xal'Verith knew the deal was finalized. 'He' stood and left through the runic sigils in the ceiling.
The room returned to how it was. Ilyara, who had been frozen in place, could finally move. She sat up, ignoring her regeneration, and weakly crawled toward Silver.
'I must feed him my blood—quickly.'