CHAPTER 51: THE PRIME VAMPIRE

"Go," Isolde whispered, with a confident smile on her face that was enough to make Viviane understand one thing.

Isolde was evolving to the four tiers of the Somnium Eternity!

The skeletal centipede reared, its many human arms clawing at the walls as it lunged toward Eve. The crooked marionette leapt in the same breath, its mask flashing from laughter to agony as it bounded after Stella.

Eve braced herself, her stone blades raised high. But the centipede was faster than its grotesque form suggested.

Its claws scraped over her hardened skin, dozens of grasping fingers wrapping around her limbs. Each hand whispered, faint but chilling, in voices she knew all too well.

"You failed them."

"You weren’t strong enough."

"You will crumble like stone."

The words gnawed into her ears. They weren’t voices of strangers—they were her father’s, her sisters’, her own reflection twisting into accusation. Voices that she tried to forget come back again making her unfocused and terrified.

"No... they are all dead! It’s not them!" she screamed and tried to fight it.

Eve’s arms faltered for a fraction of a second, and in that moment, the centipede’s skull snapped forward, rows of broken teeth clamping down on her shoulder.

Her stone plating cracked under the bite, pain exploding through her body.

"FUCK!"

Stella’s plight was no less dire. The puppet bounded toward her in jerks and spasms, its mask flashing through deformed expressions—joy, grief, rage, ecstasy—each time more violent than the last.

Its laughter was infectious, crawling into her skull. Every bounce reverberated with a sound she recognized.

Her own laughter. The laughter she once had when she’d pulled strings on those weaker than her, when she had made others dance for her amusement. Now it mocked her, suffocating.

The puppet lunged, its too-many-jointed arms twisting around her crimson threads, tangling them like a child snapping apart a toy.

Each tug it made echoed with phantom voices of her past victims—those she’d manipulated, betrayed, and left broken.

"Dance for me, Stella."

"Dance until the strings cut you."

Her body froze as the strings she controlled wrapped against her own arms and throat, betraying her in the puppet’s frenzy.

For one terrible moment, both women were close to breaking. Eve, pinned under gnashing teeth and suffocating whispers; Stella, strangled by her own art turned against her.

Then, through sheer survival instinct, they snapped back.

Eve roared, her body hardening further, stone spikes jutting from her skin as she forced the centipede back just enough to break free. Blood seeped from her cracked shoulder, but she stood.

Stella choked out a curse, forcing her threads to shred violently outward. The marionette skittered back with a hiss, its mask flashing into one of disappointment.

The two regrouped, panting, their eyes wild with lingering fear. They staggered toward Viviane, who hadn’t moved, her gaze locked on the horrors.

"What the hell was that?!" Stella snapped, wiping blood from her mouth, her voice sharp with both rage and panic.

"You didn’t tell us she could summon our fucking nightmares!" Eve snarled, clutching her wounded shoulder. "You knew, didn’t you?"

Viviane’s lips pressed into a thin line, though her own hands trembled. The whispers of fear still gnawed at her ears—her own nightmare had yet to take form, but she could feel its shadow coiling, waiting.

She met their furious stares with cold defiance. "So what? Are you scared of her? You want to back off now?"

Eve spat blood onto the floor, eyes blazing. "Next time, try not to let us walk straight into hell blind, Viviane."

Stella’s strings writhed angrily at her sides, her voice cutting like glass. "If we die here, it’ll be on your head."

Viviane clenched her fists tighter, staring past them at the smirking figure of her mother. She should have known this or at least predicted this. If she was almost straight evolved because of Seamus’ blood, Isolde too has a great chance to evolve into a greater monster.

And Isolde—watching them struggle, break, and turn on each other—looked more delighted than ever.

"But still, you two are too weak. You call yourselves evolved vampires?"

Viviane’s voice carried no edge of mercy, only disdain.

It was clear that even if vampires were lucky enough to be evolved, they still have different power levels. Some of them only have a lame and basic evolution while the others were blessed by tremendous power.

Stella and Eve flinched at the words, but before they could spit back their protests, Viviane was already moving.

Their voices became meaningless background noise. To her, they weren’t comrades, only tools, extensions of her will.

Her pale arms split open in cuts, ribbons of blood spilling out. From that blood bloomed searing fire. Crimson strings, slick and alive, wove out from her wounds and hissed as flames crawled along them.

"No one can stop me from destroying you!"

Viviane’s gaze was only on Isolde who watched from afar.

"Show me what you’ve got then," Isolde smirked.

Viviane stretched her hands wide, and the strings snapped forward, catching the centipede nightmare that had been racing across the ceiling.

The creature screeched, acid dripping from its mandibles and eating pits into the stone floor, but the bindings held—each whip of string searing with fire as it coiled tighter.

But it wasn’t enough to defeat that nightmare.

Viviane spun her wrists, and the strings twisted with her motion, branching out like a bloody spiderweb. Some lashed into Stella and Eve, spearing into their flesh, embedding themselves deep.

"What the fuck!’

"Let go of us?!"

"What are you doing?!"

Their bodies moved against their will, dragged into Viviane’s rhythm. She swung them into the path of the centipede’s acidic spray, their bodies sizzling, flesh melting, only to regenerate seconds later thanks to their untouched Vitalis Cores.

"Meat shields," Viviane muttered, her eyes burning as bright as the flames crawling across her strings. "That’s all you’re good for."

The centipede’s body writhed, half-burned and still splitting apart. Yet the pieces reformed. Black ichor spilled and molded into fresh legs, fresh eyes, new mandibles. Every time she shredded it, it came back worse, and even the other nightmares fused into one more disturbing monster.

"Damn it!" Viviane cursed, her voice cutting through the chaos. "Isolde! Stop hiding behind your pathetic puppets and face me yourself!"

"Why would I?" Isolde tilted her head, her tone mocking, almost lazy. "Like you, I’m only using my power to its fullest advantage. But is this really your limit? Playing with fire and strings of ribbons? Perhaps you should give up this strange obsession with defeating me, Viviane."

Her smile curved into something cruel. "Because you never will."

The grin, the condescending gleam in Isolde’s eyes—it was enough to make Viviane’s blood boil. But this time, instead of exploding, she forced herself to breathe slowly, steadying her pulse as she met her mother’s gaze with unshaken defiance.

"Nothing is unbeatable," she said firmly. "Even you. One day, you’ll choke on the defeat you so arrogantly deny."

For the first time, Isolde’s smile wavered. Viviane lifted her chin, pride burning brighter than her fury. If she was going to fall, she would fall with grace.

She raised her palm, summoning spheres of fire that spun around her, each one a miniature sun blazing like the points of a crown. With a sharp gesture, she unleashed them in a storm, fireballs bursting against the monster’s armored hide.

Each explosion shook the vault, the stench of scorched acid and blood filling the air. Shards of stone and flame tore through the walls, blowing chunks of the chamber into rubble.

And yet—despite the devastation—it still refused to die.

The nightmare shifted and then convulsed into a new shape. Viviane’s chest tightened as she saw the outline.

Its body stretched, limbs reforming not into a beast, but into a silhouette she knew too well—tall, graceful, and terrifying.

Its body was wrong, too long in the arms, fingers tapering into hooked claws like knives, its movements both elegant and grotesque, gliding as if the ground bent to its will.

It was Isolde

Viviane’s breath hitched.

"No—"

The Isolde-nightmare moved faster than the centipede or that jester had ever done, claws lashing through the web of strings.

Stella’s body was torn in half instantly, strings dragging her twitching torso into place again. Eve’s skull cracked open, only for the blood strings to stitch it back together.

Viviane fought to hold her ground, pouring more fire into her bindings. But the false Isolde simply walked through the blaze, her smile cruel, her eyes reflecting Viviane’s own hidden fear.

Then came the strike. A single slash of its clawed hand, powered by nightmare-born strength, tore through Viviane’s guard.

The strings burned away like thread, her spheres scattered, and her chest exploded with pain as blood sprayed from the wound.

Her body slammed against the wall, ribs crushed, fire sputtering out around her.

For the first time, Viviane felt it.

This attack might kill her.