My Blood Legacy: Reincarnated as a Vampire-Chapter 468: Ready to die.

The pain came first.

A sharp sound sliced through the silence of the night, followed by her mother’s muffled scream. The thick stench of blood filled the air. The cabin, once a refuge from the relentless cold, was now nothing but a tomb about to be sealed.

Morrigan, only seven years old, watched, unable to move. Fear imprisoned her, like invisible chains tightening around her chest.

"Don’t look at them, Morrigan. Don’t let them notice."

Her mother’s weak, trembling voice echoed in her mind. But it was too late.

She was looking.

The man with the serrated blade noticed her wide eyes and grinned. A jackal’s grin, filled with cruelty and sick pleasure.

"What’s wrong, little girl?" he mocked, wiping the bloody blade on her mother’s dress. "You want to join her?"

Morrigan didn’t answer. She couldn’t.

Her lungs seemed incapable of drawing air. Her heart pounded against her ribs, as if trying to escape the nightmare.

Another man, tall and wrapped in rags, laughed, carefree.

"That one’s beyond saving. She’ll die of hunger before she gets her revenge."

But the killer of her mother didn’t want her to die that way. No, he wanted more.

He wanted her to remember.

He knelt before her, grabbing her chin with rough, filthy fingers.

"Look well at what we’ve done, little girl. Learn. The world works like this: the weak die, the strong take what they want." His yellow teeth gleamed in a rotten smile.

"Remember my face." His putrid breath filled her nostrils. "If you survive, come find me."

He laughed, then tossed her aside as if she were nothing.

And then, they left.

They left the village consumed by fire.

They left the bodies scattered, rotting under the pale moon.

They left Morrigan... alone.

But not for long.

The cold came first.

Hunger followed.

Morrigan staggered through the forest, dressed only in rags. The days dragged on, each step heavier than the last.

No food.

No water.

No one.

On the third day, her stomach no longer hurt as much. Hunger had turned into an empty, indifferent void. Her body had accepted the cruel truth: there would be nothing more.

She fell to her knees. Then, face-first into the mud.

The damp earth wrapped around her, cold and sticky, like a grave waiting to be sealed. Her body trembled, but her mind was already surrendering to oblivion.

Ready to die.

But the world didn’t let her go.

Worms crawled over her pale skin, small and insignificant... but alive.

The biting wind blew like invisible blades, gnawing at her flesh, reminding her that she was still there.

And then, there, in the cold embrace of the darkness, the truth was revealed.

That man had been right.

The world was not a place of kindness.

The world devoured the weak.

The first time she killed wasn’t for revenge.

It was for food.

Days later, dragging herself like a dying animal, Morrigan found a village. Her steps were staggered, her skin clinging to her bones, her lips cracked from thirst. But instead of help, she found disdain.

The villagers chased her away. They threw stones. Kicked her as if she were a filthy rat.

But a girl... a girl her age... felt pity.

She approached hesitantly, her eyes full of compassion. Her small hands reached out with a piece of bread.

It was in that moment that Morrigan knew.

If she took it, she would never have another chance.

Her stomach churned, her fingers trembled, but she didn’t hesitate.

The makeshift blade—a rusty piece of iron she had found on the road—slid into the girl’s neck more easily than she had imagined. The flesh gave way beneath the blade, warm and wet.

The girl choked. A short, wet sound.

The bread fell to the dirty ground, stained by the blood gushing from her throat.

Morrigan held her as the girl’s body went limp in her arms. The warmth of the blood covered her cold fingers, flowing down her wrists, staining her rags.

The shock lasted only an instant.

Then came another sensation.

Her lungs seemed fuller. Her body hummed, filled with adrenaline.

For the first time in days, she didn’t feel weak. She didn’t feel like prey.

She felt alive.

The screams came soon after.

The villagers saw her, pointed, chased her with torches and stones.

She fled.

And she was never again just a victim.

Years passed, and Morrigan became a shadow.

Every town that rejected her... humiliated her... spat on her as if she were garbage...

She returned.

Not as the hungry girl from before, but as a storm of vengeance, with blood in her eyes and the silence of death trailing her.

Her enemies learned to fear the darkness.

The candles flickered when her name was whispered in the taverns. Her trail was an echo of despair.

Where her blade passed, gold disappeared.

Where her steps echoed, cities burned.

What she destroyed was never rebuilt.

Her eyes were an abyss—cold, empty, carrying broken promises and a hatred that never faded.

But it wasn’t enough.

She wanted more.

She wanted to see the world fall.

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She wanted... to destroy.

When she found the first source of forbidden magic, Morrigan was no longer a girl.

She was a woman forged from steel, shadows, and resentment.

She hunted the cultists through damp alleyways and forgotten crypts. She heard their insane whispers, uncovered their profane rituals. When the moon bled in the sky, she made them bleed too.

And then, in the ashes of their profane lair, she drank from the secrets they had tried to hide.

The dark magic crawled beneath her skin like hungry serpents.

Her body burned. Her spirit twisted.

And Morrigan was reborn.

Black wings, vast as the night, burst from her back with a snap of broken bones. Her blood became ebony, pulsing with ancient power. Her eyes, now two glowing slits, saw beyond the veil of reality.

She saw the world for what it truly was.

A filthy pit of pain and suffering.

If it couldn’t be healed...

Then let it be consumed by darkness.

Her hatred for the world became a call. And those who heard it came crawling from the shadows—the forgotten, the rejected, the broken. To them, Morrigan offered something they had never had: purpose.

She wove lies as if casting spells. Created a fictitious god for them to worship, a vengeful deity who shared her disdain for the world. She built a religion on ashes and blood, a sanctuary for the cursed.

"The Celestial Demon will awaken."

They whispered, prayed, killed in his name.

But they didn’t know the truth.

The tomb of the god they worshipped... never existed.

It was a lie as old as the faith itself.

But beneath that profane altar, where her followers placed offerings and cried out for redemption, Morrigan kept a much greater secret.

There, among forgotten seals and runes corroded by time, lay something much more real.

Tiamat.

The primordial Dragon. The beast sealed by the ages.

They thought they were worshiping a savior.

But in truth, they were only feeding Morrigan’s ego and malice... or rather, Mary Rose...

"Stop!!!"

Morrigan’s scream echoed within the "Supreme World of Lust," a domain where Dante ruled absolute, bending her mind and desires to his will.

Her eyes, once cold and unyielding, were now tear-filled. Her breath was ragged, overwhelmed by the crushing weight of his influence. Her once unshakable mental strength was fragmenting, slowly crumbling under the relentless pressure.

Her body trembled. Not just from exhaustion, but from the terrible sensation of yielding.

Each heartbeat seemed weaker. Each thought, more clouded.

And Dante simply smiled.

"Why the rush?" His voice echoed through the "Supreme World of Lust," seductive, provocative, without even needing to be present. "Wasn’t it you who wanted to erase everything?"

The shadow of his power wrapped around Morrigan’s mind like invisible chains, pulling her deeper into the abyss.

"Then erase this illusion." He commanded.

Simple. Cruel. And irresistible.

Morrigan gritted her teeth, her fists trembling as she fought against the order.

"An illusion."

That’s what he said. But why, then, did her body falter? Why did her mind scream in desperation?

The "Supreme World of Lust" wasn’t just a simple illusion. It was a labyrinth where Dante reigned, shaping wills, destroying resistance.

She tried to gather her magic, tried to summon the shadows that had always surrounded her, but everything dissipated before it could even take form.

Dante laughed. A low, dangerous sound.

"What’s wrong, Goddess of the End? Does your power no longer respond? Is your mind no longer yours?"

Morrigan gasped, drops of sweat running down her pale skin. She could feel the shadows around her... but she no longer controlled them.

And then, he appeared.

In the center of the crimson void, Dante manifested, seated on a throne of desire and perdition, a smile on his lips as if he already knew the outcome of their battle.

His eyes fixed on her, and in that instant, Morrigan knew—he had already won.

"Kneel."

The command cut through the air like a blade.

Her body hesitated. Her mind rebelled.

But her legs gave way.

And for the first time in her life, Morrigan fell.

Dante appeared before her, and Morrigan froze. The vision was different, almost as if he had transformed before her eyes.

He was wearing a black Japanese yukata, with intricate golden dragon designs that seemed to come alive with each movement. The fabric flowed smoothly, as if it were part of his essence. His long, shiny red hair cascaded down past his waist, a reflection of an ancient power, a power he had concealed.

His eyes were golden, like two relentless suns that burned her soul. But what made her tremble most was the pair of black horns emerging from his forehead, twisting and imposing. An appearance Morrigan had never seen. Dante’s true form, from his first life.

He looked… like someone else. Older, more imposing, more… human.

The softness of his smile had faded, replaced by an expression of wisdom and power that seemed to transcend existence itself.

"I’ll show you a few things, girl." Dante’s voice was no longer the same as before.

He spoke with a deep, calm tone, as if he had seen time drag on for centuries, as if he were the keeper of the deepest truths of the universe.

Morrigan felt a chill run down her spine, a fear she had never known before.

He seemed to know more than she had ever imagined, and the way his voice resonated in her mind made her own strength waver.