Vampire: World of Blood-Chapter 180: Ascension V

The moment Merciless returned to the Sea of Correspondence, the remnants of Faust’s dagger, which had once embedded itself in his heart, flickered in a final blaze of heat before dissolving into nothingness.

The very surroundings around him crackled with the aftershocks of that power, an intense warmth that faded rapidly as if the dagger’s essence had been consumed entirely by the sins it represented—Pride and Vanity.

From there the fading heat swirled around him, echoing the loss of Faust’s presence, creating a sensation akin to the ashes of a dying star dissipating into the cosmos, in hopes of creating another.

As the echoes of that warmth dissipated, Merciless felt the lingering presence of Pride and Vanity surge within him, washing over him like a wave of molten energy. Their power was no longer an external force; it had been woven intricately into the very fabric of his being, binding itself to everything he represented as a sole individual, infecting his current Eden from deep within.

Each breath he took seemed infused with the intoxicating essence of these sins, their weight pressing down on him like the gravity of a collapsing star. It was a duality, a heady mix of euphoria and despair, a powerful current that threatened to sweep him away.

Faust’s existence had flickered out like a dying ember in a cold void, leaving behind an unsettling emptiness where the connection had once thrived. In that silence, Merciless became instinctively aware of the monumental burden he now bore.

The sins coiled around him, slick and serpentine, they were suffocating his sense of self. It was as if they were sentient entities, pulsing with their own desires, weaving into the crevices of his psyche, coaxing him to embrace their malevolent potential.

The sensation of Pride swelled within him, a fierce drive urging him to dominate, to elevate himself above all others, while Vanity wrapped around his thoughts, whispering sweet words, and imposing such desires and self-fulling wishes of perfection and the allure of worship.

Together, they formed a seductive web of corruption, tugging at the very core of his being and threatening to reshape him into something monstrous, yet undeniably powerful. Merciless felt their energy flickering at the edges of his consciousness, igniting ambitions that slumbered within, stirring desires for conquest and a thirst for acknowledgment that he had never fully recognized before.

Did he really crave such?

Did he truly want this?

In the end, it was not the sin speaking, they merely brought out what was already there.

But soon too; they settled.

Leaving Merciless to choose another source yet again.

As his mind floated in a dream-like state within the Sea of Correspondence, an awareness seeped into his mind; a gnawing understanding that he was no longer simply a vessel for these sins, but rather their new avatar, their champion.

They had seeped into his very meaning, becoming a part of his identity, coiling around his essence like a serpent wrapping around its prey.

It wanted to devour him, and that is exactly what he did by instinct, to fight the urges, rather than letting them take over by force, this was indeed the right call for both Pride and Vanity, seem to empower him to see and dig deeper into his raw desires, for them to be used properly, for a new power to be born.

It must take the shape of his innermost desires.

And that was what it dedicated its time to do. However, given Merciless’s current state, the process wouldn’t take long at all. In this state between consciousness and unconsciousness, his desires were laid bare, easily recognizable in their rawest form.

But the journey to completion waits for no one.

As such another source must be traversed.

And as if to respond a tremor beneath the surface signaled the next pull, the next calling. Another source of power, unseen but undeniably present, beckoned to him.

Merciless raised his gaze, his eyes narrowing as he noticed something unusual in the distance; a strange, shimmering box came into view.

Inside the translucent box, a hazel-colored cat with striking green eyes lay trapped, its form flickering between two realities. On one side, radiant light spilled forth, warm and inviting, while the other side was cloaked in shadow, twisted and chaotic.

Yet both sides bore their flaws, tainted by imperfection. The light, though brilliant, was not pure; it contained streaks of corruption, cracks in its gleaming surface from which darkness seeped through. Conversely, the shadows, though ominous, housed faint glimmers of light, tiny sparks of hope flickering amidst the void of its being.

Two paths.

Neither entirely right nor entirely wrong.

Merciless inwardly felt that this was not a representation of good versus evil, but a reflection of a deeper truth.

Morality, the concept of right and wrong, was an illusion, a mask. The light could lead to ruin, just as the darkness could harbor salvation.

This paradox, this truth that both paths could be both good and bad, mirrored the complexity of existence itself.

In the end, the only path that mattered was his path.

The cat flickered once more, and before Merciless could react, the box exploded into a cascade of shimmering fragments, sucking him into the source of power it represented.

The world around Merciless twisted and contorted, reshaping itself into an entirely new landscape.

He was no longer adrift in the Sea of Correspondence; instead, he found himself standing in an impossibly long hallway that stretched further of him in a straight line, its walls fading into a haze of colors and forms.

His consciousness hovered in a strange liminal state—simultaneously aware and unaware, conscious and unconscious, as though he existed in two disparate realms of thought.

His form remained formless, an ethereal echo of himself, and he began to glide through the hallway, propelled by an unseen force that beckoned him forward.

The corridor was lined with paintings, each one capturing a different, fragmented moment frozen in time.

The frames shimmered as if alive, yet each held an unspoken truth within their meaning.

In the first frame, a lone figure stood at the edge of a massive bubble; a cosmic sphere containing entire galaxies, swirling nebulae, and the vast expanse of the universe. The figure was draped in shadow, its features obscured by an impenetrable darkness.

They glowed with an inner light, illuminating the shadow that surrounded them, and seemed to survey the universe with an all-knowing gaze.

This entity appeared to watch over everything in this universe, mostly omniscient yet distant, as though its mere observation could bend the very fabric of reality itself. The aura of authority emanating from it was palpable, and the moment felt frozen, a moment teetering on the edge of self-chosen destiny and chaos.

But Merciless attention did not stay on this being’s image for too long.

As Merciless moved deeper into the hallway, the paintings continued to unfold like chapters in an ancient tome, each one revealing fragments of potential futures and forgotten pasts, or potential maybes.

As Merciless drifted further down the hall, he was irresistibly drawn to a painting that seemed to pulse with life, imbued with a raw, visceral energy that resonated deep within him. The artwork came alive under his gaze, capturing a moment that felt familiar yet.

In the foreground stood a feral-looking boy, his face contorted into a savage snarl, each feature sharpened by the fervor of his struggle. His wild, unkempt hair framed his face like a dark halo, accentuating the ferocity in his piercing eyes, which glinted with an untamed spirit.

The boy’s body was a weird masterpiece of raw power and animalistic grace. One scene showed him a painting of a fat young lad, in the other scene a towering giant, with muscle was defined and taut, rippling with the exertion of his relentless ascent.

His sharp claws glimmered in the dim light, reflecting a predatory hunger that spoke of both desperation and defiance. He climbed a steep mountain that seemed to be cleaved by something powerful in the past.

However, the man in the painting looks tired as if his own body is weighing down on him.

To be honest, the painting was like a colored manga panel; with the fat kid transforming into a more powerful version of himself.

The aura surrounding the boy resembled chi, yet Merciless sensed that this transformation was something far more complex—an essence of time itself. It represented a power that, for a brief moment, allowed a future self to manifest in the present, taking the present place, by superimposing the present self for a short time.

This temporary shift came at a steep cost though, draining not only life energy but also depleting other vital aspects of internal energy, including the very energy embedded in matter and the body. As a result, when the transformation was undone, it often proved fatal for the user.

And the painting seems to show another boy training the fat boy on potential ways to use this power.

But Merciless attention soon went upon another painting soon thereafter.

As he continued along the corridor, another painting caught his eye, one that elicited a mixture of fascination and revulsion.

This scene was grotesque and surreal, capturing a stunning blue-haired woman whose body was exaggerated to voluptuous extremes, curves swelling in sensual abundance. She writhed in passionate abandon, entangled with a shadowy figure on a desolate, dead planet, the ground cracked and lifeless beneath them.

In their primal union, they were shaking the entire planet.

Above them, the sky blazed with the unforgiving light of a pink sun, casting a surreal glow over the entire tableau.

The woman’s body twisted in a perverse dance, a raw presentation of eroticism and depravity. Phallic tentacles emerged from the shadows, eagerly filling her mouth, ears, and belly button, each one writhing and undulating with a life of its own as if each hole on the woman’s body was a fuckable pussy hole.

These tentacles penetrated constructed orifices, stretching her in ways that seemed both pleasurable and violating.

The scene radiated a primal lust, a chaotic ballet of debasement, framed against the backdrop of a world in its death throes. It was an image that captured the raw, unfiltered essence of pleasure, the insatiable hunger for pleasure that cannot be described in plain words, even in the face of inevitable destruction.

As Merciless pressed deeper into the hallway, the very fabric of reality warped around him, the walls stretching and contorting as though the structure itself were unraveling.

The final painting he encountered was the most unsettling of them all—a chilling portrayal of countless individuals from various universes, their lives divided into two stark halves.

On one side, the "before" depicted an idyllic paradise, a harmonious realm where beings of all kinds coexisted beneath golden skies, laughter echoing like a sweet melody.

The atmosphere radiated tranquility, an unblemished vision of joy and unity.

In stark contrast, the "after" revealed a horrific apocalyptic scene, a nightmare of unimaginable proportions. The same beings, once filled with vitality, had devolved into feral and deranged creatures, their faces twisted in expressions of despair and madness.

Corruption spread like a ravenous plague, festering in every corner of existence. Entire realities crumbled, their vibrant colors drained away, leaving only twisted blights in their wake. What was once a paradise was now reduced to nightmare, or pure horror and profane depravity.

All that was once holy became tainted and fallen, the meaning of hope no longer present.

That was the image of the last painting.

And as Merciless reached the end of the hallway, he found himself standing before two doors.

Both were marked with inscriptions etched into gold plaques.

The first door was labeled "The Outlier."

The second door bore the name "The Pure."

Between the doors was a framed question:

"Choose your path of eventuality."

Merciless stood still, his mind torn between the two options. Outlier... Pure... what did they truly mean?

He had no clear answer, no guiding compass.

For what felt like hours; or perhaps mere seconds—time became meaningless. His desires wavered, struggling to find a foothold in this place where nothing was certain.

But then, something deeper stirred within him. Instinct.

Without fully knowing why, he reached out, choosing the door marked "The Outlier."

At that moment, the door labeled "The Pure" dissolved into nothingness, leaving only one path.

The door to The Outlier creaked open, revealing an endless spiral staircase descending into a void of shadow.

Without hesitation, Merciless traversed forward, as his mind moved with his will, and began his descent.

The stairway spiraled downward into an abyss so deep that no light reached its depths.

With each step, the weight of his decisions grew heavier.

It was as though every step he took represented a choice made in his life; a crossroads, a pivotal moment that shaped his destiny, before it fell into the hands of another free from the influence of creation and governed by a new system that was on his side, even in his darkest moments.

Yet there was no turning back.

As he descended, something began to shift within him.

His once formless existence began to take shape. His senses sharpened, awareness blossoming in fragments. His being was slowly taking on substance, though it remained undefined.

The stairway eventually leveled out into a flat surface, but before him were two more paths. One stairway ascended upward, its sign labeled "The Immense and the Profound."

The other stairway led further downward, marked with the words "The Formless and the Formed."

Merciless hesitated, weighing his options, but only for a moment. The upward path called to him, promising power and knowledge beyond imagining. But something darker, something more mysterious, urged him to sink deeper into the unknown.

He chose to descend.

With each step downward, the burden on his shoulders grew, but so too did his awareness. His form became clearer—still vague, but now more solid. As he went deeper, the weight of existence itself seemed to press down on him, the stairway becoming harder to traverse.

The deeper he sank, the more tangible his body became.

Finally, he could sense a humanoid form—a body, though he could not yet see it. It felt unfamiliar as if it had been forged from the choices he had made on this journey. Yet he pushed forward, driven by an instinct stronger than desire.

As he neared the bottom, he felt nine presences materialize behind him; intangible in what they represented, formless something in meaning, but tangible as it was unmistakably there. They loomed over him, heavy, oppressive, like shadows that will always follow him wherever he goes.

Then, without warning, the stairway beneath him shattered like fragile glass as if the weight of the stairs could not handle his form anymore.

Merciless plunged into the darkness below, falling endlessly through a void. But in the distance, a light appeared—a pinprick of brilliance amidst the dark.

He reached for it, tumbling through the air as the light grew closer.

He crashed through the light, breaking through into the Sea of Correspondence once more. The familiar sea lay bare before him, but something had changed.

When Merciless looked down at his left hand, his skin had grown impossibly pale, inhuman in its pallor. His claws had thickened, growing longer and more savage.

Each claw now glowed with a distinct hue, changing different colors every second.

Neon blue for Aether, scarlet red for Chi, dark purple for negativity, pure black for miasma, and many more.

Each claw pulsed with a power so vast it could destroy a galaxy if all were released, their energy indefinite, the claw capacity itself infinite. It was as if his very claws were vessels of near-endless energy by human standards, capable of holding limitless power without ever overflowing.

The same could be said for the rest of his body as well.

As he flexed his hand, All his claws went ominous but beautiful neon blue.

As a result of this, a trail of neon blue energy, or rather a guiding string came fort, and appeared before him, winding through the sea and leading to his next source as if this power of his led him to the best possible choice.

At the end of the string, another source awaited him—a whip coiled tightly around an arm, squeezing it with enough force to crush the life from it. Swarming around the arm were countless insects, writhing and buzzing in a grotesque display.

The next source had beckoned him, or rather he had beckoned it; and it welcome him.

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