Vampire: World of Blood-Chapter 142: When An Immovable Wall Meets An Unstoppable Force

In the heart of the Overseers’ Mansion, a pulse of energy rippled through the darkened hallways, weaving in and out of the ancient architecture like a whisper carried on the wind.

The Mansion spirit was created by all the Overseers, specifically Vincent who did most of the work in its creation, a living entity of its own, hummed with unseen power, its secrets buried within layers of shadow and stone. At the core of it all, orchestrating the intricate web of systems, security, and intelligence, was Ceridwen.

She was more than a person, more than just another being in the House of Ghal. Ceridwen was an entity—a mind capable of splitting itself into over 100,000,000 variations, and each variation also had the power to do the same, and the cycle can continue endlessly without end.

Each one was a shard of her consciousness, tasked with overseeing every aspect of the Mansion, its inhabitants, and the mysterious trials that took place within its grasp.

Her form was ethereal, her essence entwined with the very walls, floors, and chambers of the mansion. She was everywhere, yet unseen, a spirit bound to the will of the Overseers, governing the mansion’s every function and securing its secrets.

In the grand meeting hall, the Overseers gathered in silence, their faces illuminated by the flickering glow of various displays floating before them. Each Overseer had their eyes fixed on the screens, observing the ongoing trials of the participants.

Every examinee was monitored by a specific mental variant of Ceridwen, who acted as their personal overseer, watching their every move, tracking their progress, and reporting back to the main body.

Yet amidst the carefully orchestrated symphony of surveillance, something was amiss.

Ceridwen, the true Ceridwen; her main consciousness—hovered within the mansion’s central control, an abstract presence constantly receiving the countless streams of data from her myriad mental variants. Normally, her awareness extended to every inch of the mansion and beyond, including the examination rooms where the participants were tested.

But now, she felt... incomplete. One of her mental variants was missing. A gap in her otherwise flawless oversight.

It was the variant assigned to Merciless.

Ceridwen’s central consciousness rippled with unease. The severing of her connection with any of her variants was highly unusual, bordering on impossible. The fact that it had occurred with Merciless, one of the most volatile and unpredictable participants, heightened the concern.

As the Overseers continued their observations, none of them had yet noticed the disruption. To be honest, they stopped paying attention to Merciless the moment, he entered a personal space to rest, but Ceridwen power unlike Unix was able to enter it and observe, so she was keeping tabs on Merciless for a while now even inside the Subjective reality of his.

But given that the House respected personal space, they think nothing of it, for the time being. But Ceridwen was the opposite, she was intrusive, and her purpose to oversee everything down to the smallest, minutes, and insignificant detail was what she was created for. She was the House of Ghal security system, and she took great pride in her purpose.

The screens still displayed other examinees’ progress in real-time, their movements, tactics, and survival strategies laid bare before the Overseers’ watchful eyes. But the feed from Merciless—unbeknownst to them—had gone dark.

Beatrice was the first to break the silence, her voice cold and sharp.

"The twins from Clan Loviatar continue to demonstrate formidable power. I see why they were recommended for this trial."

Beside her, Vincent swirled the liquid in his golden cup, his eyes fixed on the display.

"Power is one thing, but do they have the elegance required to be one of us? Raw strength is so... pedestrian."

Keziah, seated at the head of the table, remained silent, her gaze flitting across the screens. Each Overseer was engrossed in their own analysis of the candidates, completely unaware of the silent disruption that had taken place with Ceridwen’s variant assigned to Merciless.

In the unseen folds of the mansion, Ceridwen’s true form worked frantically. She probed her own systems, searching for the source of the disruption. What could have caused her to lose contact with that specific variant? She tried to reconnect, to re-establish the link, but it was as if that fragment of her mind had simply vanished, swallowed by an invisible void.

This was unprecedented.

The link had been severed not by Merciless’ doing; she would have sensed any direct attack; but by some external force. A force she could not yet identify.

She spread her awareness outward, probing every corner of the mansion, searching for anomalies she had missed. Yet nothing seemed out of place. The only anomaly, the only breach in her otherwise perfect network, was the absence of the variant tasked with observing Merciless.

Ceridwen’s concern deepened. Merciless, the one participant who had consistently exceeded expectations, now moved unmonitored. Her variant, her connection to him, had been... cut off. How long had it been since she’d last received data on him? Minutes? Hours?

Her focus narrowed, locking in on the place where her variant should have been, an empty void where information once flowed. A deep, almost instinctual sense of foreboding crept through her circuits.

She turned her attention back to the Overseers, still deep in their discussions. She would need to report this to Keziah, but she needed more information first. It was not like Ceridwen to present a problem without at least some semblance of a solution. No, she had to find out what had caused this—and why.

Splitting a new fragment of her consciousness, Ceridwen sent it on a mission: investigate the last known location of the missing variant, trace the events leading to the severance of the link, and most importantly, find out what had happened to Merciless.

She couldn’t shake the feeling that whatever had caused this disruption was not just an accident. There was a force at play, something ancient and insidious, that even she, with all her power and intelligence, had failed to detect until it was too late.

As she worked in silence, the Overseers continued their meeting, blissfully unaware of the impending storm that was about to descend upon them.

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The thick silence of the night seemed to pulse in rhythm with the distant hum of the noble party. A lively gathering, just beyond the treeline, echoed faintly—clinking glasses, soft laughter, and murmurings of high society. Their merriment felt worlds away from the isolated scene hidden within the tall, dense grass, where nature seemed to hold its breath.

The dense hush of the night appeared to pulse in time with the distant murmur of the noble party. A lively gathering resonated softly just beyond the treeline, with clinking glasses, quiet laughing, and murmuring of high society. Their joy felt worlds apart from the solitary sight buried behind the long, tall red, and pink alien-like grass.

Lying within a patch of wildflowers, half-obscured by the swaying blades of grass, was an otherworldly woman, her form bathed in the eerie, crimson glow of the moon that hung ominously in the sky.

Her skin shone in the moonlight, not with the soft warmth of human flesh, but with a metallic iridescence—pale silver with delicate traces of violet that changed and pulsed as if alive. Her features were sharp, chiseled, and hauntingly beautiful, with high, prominent cheekbones and a narrow jawline that gave her an ethereal, almost statuesque appearance.

Her huge, almond-shaped eyes, even when closed in unconsciousness, suggested a species not of this planet. Thin, translucent eyelids twitched occasionally, revealing iridescent, pearlescent pupils underneath. Her hair, flowing like strands of liquid metal, cascaded in waves down her back, blending in with the flowers around her.

Her body, nude and exposed, lay sprawled in a strangely serene manner. Beneath her slender, elongated limbs, the earth seemed to welcome her presence.

The flesh on her arms and legs carried tiny markings; intricate, shimmering tattoos that coiled up her limbs like living circuits, pulsating.

Her chest rose and fell gently, her breath deep and steady, but unnervingly still. Her parted lips let forth a delicate snore, small and nearly translucent, with a faint iridescent tinge. It was a sound far too serene for the ominous tension in the air as if she was unaware of the danger around her. Given how powerful and beneficial most of these party guesses were.

A tumbler of alcoholic beverage sat fallen next to her, its contents slowly seeping into the soil below. A few leftover drips shimmered on the glass surface, whirling lazily with the dissolving pill, their edges hissing softly with planned purpose.

To the untrained eye, it may have appeared to be a spectacle of overindulgence; a noblewoman who had ventured too far from the vibrant party, succumbing to the effects of drink and the night. But to those who knew her true identity, she was far from average.

She was more than just a celestial guest; she was a being whose presence had the power to alter the fundamental fabric of reality; a hazardous entity, susceptible only to appearance.

As a matter of fact, she was one of the higher-position members within the house of Ghal. She was a vampire of clan Solomon.

And yet, she did not belong here, in reality, she belonged somewhere else; but, like a pawn on a board, she was moved accordingly to someone else, straying from her intended path, where she was supposed to be tonight.

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Meanwhile, in another portion of the enormous mansion of The House of Ghal, a chamber was filled with quiet, unseen energy, green came from behind its doors.

It was a place that appeared nearly mundane in its starkness, but it held significance much beyond its outward look. Ten individuals in dark purple, and silver, minimalist garments, with white masks on their faces, each with a different number from 1 to 10, stood silently before giant stone slabs that resembled altars.

These figures, known as the "Fingers of Unix" were elite agents responsible for general transportation, basically, they were the pilots of the Overseer mansion, as such they were also responsible for transporting examinees and their attendants to prearranged safe spots within the Primix Dimension were they go through the process of accustoming in order to adapt to corruption.

These beings were picked by Unix who was Nyrtha’s right hand by virtue of being his sycophant, each with a unique background and expertise of dimension traveling, and each has been biologically altered to serve the goal even better.

And every one of them was a vampire from a separate clan, with their own special ability, as even their ichor had been realtered to be stronger than what was typical. Of course, they were all lower-level spawns, though. No higher than level 1.

But that aside.

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The room itself was dimly lit, its oppressive atmosphere underscored by the stone walls etched with intricate runes that glowed with a subtle, pulsing light. This faint illumination cast eerie shadows that danced across the floor, adding to the chamber’s aura of foreboding.

Suddenly, the large iron door at the far end of the room groaned open, its ancient hinges protesting with a resonant creak. In stepped the woman from the forest, her appearance now transformed from the vulnerable figure she had been.

She exuded a composed and commanding presence, her every movement radiating an air of authority that immediately drew the attention of the Fingers. On her mask the number 1 is evident.

Meaning she was of a higher quality than the other currently present among the fingers.

The Fingers, in their uniformed precision, lifted their heads and executed synchronized salutes—a gesture stripped of any genuine warmth but imbued with a subtle reverence. It was evident that, despite their lack of emotion during their work hours, they recognized her as a figure of significant stature and respect.

"Good evening, gentlemen!"

The woman greeted smoothly, her voice a rich blend of velvet and steel.

"I trust the operations have proceeded as planned? I just came back to check if you all are doing ok after I am about to clock out since I have done my fair share of work for the day."

One of the Fingers, designated by a subtle emblem on his robe, stepped forward.

"Naturally #1."

#4 said as he bowed to greet #1

From there #7 said.

"Yes, Lady First. All examinees and their attendants have been successfully relocated to their designated positions within the Primix dimension, we make sure to double-check. The transition was smooth, and no anomalies were detected, it’s a pity we came here a little late or we could have helped you with most of the work since you did half of the transition yourself."

#1 nodded, her gaze sweeping over the remaining Fingers.

"Excellent. I expect nothing less from the likes of you. Alas, please ensure that all reports are updated and submitted before your shifts end. We cannot afford any lapses in our procedures."

Naturally, another finger replied, that being #5.

"We are on schedule, Lady First. The remaining tasks will be completed with precision, the hard part has already been taken care of all things considered. Is there anything specific you require before you leave?"

#1 lips curled into a faint, enigmatic smile behind her mask as she said.

"Merely a confirmation that all protocols have been strictly adhered to, that would be all."

The Fingers nodded in unison, their movements perfectly synchronized.

"As you wish."

one of them replied for all till #5 began to speak up.

"We will also provide additional summaries before the end of our shifts as well."

With a final, authoritative gaze at the assembled individuals, number one turned to leave her men to the job, her presence obvious in the tense atmosphere of the room. The enormous iron door closed behind her with a resonant thud, leaving the remaining Fingers to their humdrum jobs, which were critical to the House’s operations.

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#1 moved through the mansion’s labyrinthine halls, her presence commanding an almost reverential stillness among the servants and guards stationed throughout the corridors. Each one stiffened and offered a salute as she approached, their expressions a blend of respect and awe. She acknowledged them with a nod, her measured politeness masking her true nature

A young guard, who appeared to be new to his station, faltered as she passed. His anxiousness was evident as he botched his salute. The woman stopped, her expression softening somewhat in reaction to his apprehension behind her mask.

"At ease!"

She said, her voice almost soothing. The guard blinked, visibly relieved, and quickly lowered his hand, offering a grateful nod.

As she walked, the rhythmic clicking of her heels against the slick floor echoed across the corridor. Her posture was easy, and she held her head high as if she owned every room she entered. As she passed one of the towering, arched windows, the reflection of the crimson moon’s light disclosed a secret. The glass reflected the image of another, instead of the current form, the person in that reflection didn’t have a mask and was much shorter.

Long hazel hair, clear white skin, thick curves, large breasts, a fat ass, wolf-like ears paired with draconic fins, her eye was both wolf-like and draconic-like in appearance giving her an otherworldy glare.

This was none other than Brunhilde of course.

She noticed the reflection but did not stop. A playful smile tugged at her lips as she continued her walk, whispering softly to herself.

"Enjoy the gift, my love."

Her palm delicately caressed the cool stone wall as her thoughts turned to Merciless. The succession of events she had methodically planned was coming to life. Hector’s suffering, as her own grandfather, was simply a necessary chess move in her big plan.

Even though he was in pain, it was all for the greater cause Hector himself would without a doubt agree to, Merciless, and their future. She let out a warm, adoring chuckle laced with a tint of corrupt madness. Her eyes gleamed with the feverish zeal of someone who is madly in love.

"I love you so much, Merciless!"

She murmured, her voice dripping with sweet obsession.

"I’d tear apart the fabric of existence itself just to see you happy."

But as much as she would just want to fan girl for Merciless, she came at this one exact spot for one reason, as she approached a small, elegant vase on a pedestal toward the end of the hallway. She paused, her eyes narrowing as she observed a little insect sitting on the vase. It was a Matrala, a Hellmora-native insect that looks like a sandfly, while it was a part of the same family; just a different sub-specie of sandfly native to Hellmora.

However there was one problem with this fly’s current existence, you see this was a different planet, so this thing should not be here, of course, Brunhilde already knew why it was here though, as she said with happy, but equally mocking and scary smirk on her face.

"Mother-in-law...

Brunhilde cooed, her smile turning wicked as she regarded the insect.

"You’re always watching, aren’t you?"

She asked in a sarcastic tone.

She leaned closer to the Matrala, her lips inches away from the tiny creature.

"But there’s no need to worry. You know I love your son. We both want what’s best for him, don’t we? But even if you continue to watch me across timelines... it won’t change anything."

After those words were said, a prominent and annoyed voice could be heard.

"Tsk!!!...

As she spoke, the Matrala’s body began to shine blue, swelling and warping the surrounding air. Within minutes, the little insect grew into a towering figure.

But this person was not normal.

No compared to her lesser incarnation, the avatar she left behind for this realm specifically to fill in for her absence as she had no dealings with a plane full of mere lesser lifeforms, this was the true form of the avatar who filled in for her in this realm.

Michelle from the higher realm, appeared before Brunhilde in her true form, after millions of years, she had finally descended back into the mortal plane.

She stood eight meters tall, and her presence was tremendous. Her figure was voluptuous, with plump thighs rippling beneath her skintight crimson dress. Her hips expanded in an alluring fashion, giving her a frightening but sensuous image of a fertility goddess.

Michelle’s had pale skin, her legs were long and shapely, adorned with intricate violet tattoos that wrapped around her skin like ancient runes, shimmering faintly in the dim light. She wore towering thigh-high boots, with a dagger-like heel similar to Lucy, a fashion style popular in the ancient vampire community and made its way into the modern world, their obsidian black material gleaming ominously.

Meanwhile, above her head, a massive, blood-red crown floated, casting a menacing glow. Her draconic horns curled slightly from her forehead, evoking the image of a primordial beast. Her neon blue eyes, set against the black void of her sclera, burned with a cold intensity.

Michelle’s gaze locked onto Brunhilde, who remained unfazed despite the overwhelming power radiating from the taller woman.

Without a word, Michelle extended her hand, and the world around them vanished. They were drawn into a void—a realm where higher and lower realities lost meaning, and the very concept of time ceased to exist.

Michelle moved through the void with predatory grace, her massive form cutting through the nothingness. Her thick thighs, rippling beneath her skin-tight fit, each movement as little as they maybe cause her fat ass and large K-cup breast to sway hypnotically. Her long, straight raven black hair with neon blue tips carried her existence with an intimidating presence that filled the space with palpable tension.

Brunhilde remained calm, her smile unwavering.

"You must really hate me."

Brunhilde said in a teasing and joking manner.

Michelle’s expression was unyielding. Her voice, deep and resonant like distant thunder, filled the void.

"Daughter of the World Tree... how far will you go to provoke me?"

Brunhilde’s grin widened a glint of madness in her eyes.

"Oh, Michelle, dearest mother-in-law... I love him too much to stop now, buttttttttt.... it’s not like you can stop me either way though."

At these words, the voice began to shake as if to express Michelle’s anger.

However, she soon regained her composure as she began to speak.

Her voice thundered with anger and vivid annoyance.

"You’ve taken things too far, Brunhilde. Manipulating my son’s fate but taking it away from me, marking his origin point like some... plaything. Perhaps I should end you here."

Brunhilde laughed, the sound echoing through the void, a chilling mixture of amusement and defiance.

"Woman, even I can’t kill myself even if I wanted to, what makes you any different."

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