CHAPTER 54: 54: REVENGE

"You’re back... and stronger," Dream said, her voice calm but edged with a quiet, almost mocking curiosity. She stood right in front of the Lightning God’s door, the faint shimmer of mana curling around her like a second skin. "I take it you’ve received more of his strength, hm?"

Geralt’s eyes narrowed, the corner of his lips twisting into a sneer.

"Never knew you were spying on me, hag."

"I’m not spying on you," she replied smoothly, her tone so neutral it almost felt cold. "You’re not worth spying on. After all, you betrayed your own race just for a taste of power. That’s something I will never understand."

He chuckled without humor. "So what? You going to run off and tell the other demigods?"

"No." Dream’s gaze didn’t waver. "I won’t interfere in the affairs of the demigods or Blue Star. I’ll continue my role as a neutral party. That was the mana oath I swore when you all agreed to send the Highborns to their deaths out of nothing but greed." Her words carried no anger, but each syllable hit like the toll of a heavy bell. "The planet could burn to ashes tomorrow and I wouldn’t lift a finger. But remember this, Geralt—" her voice sharpened, mana thickening in the air like an unseen weight— "if you so much as touch their child, you will make an enemy of me."

She didn’t wait for his reply. Her figure dissolved into the air, vanishing without a sound, as though she had never been there at all.

The Lightning God’s frown deepened. He acted tough, played unbothered by her antics... but in truth, he knew better. Dream was the oldest demigod on Blue Star, a force even the Federation considered a deterrent. And he, despite all his borrowed power, knew not to provoke her.

---

Isobel—little Isobel, the girl who had lost her mother to a monster in human skin—opened her eyes to find herself lying on a cold steel bed in a morgue.

The air was stale, heavy with the faint stench of disinfectant and death. Her temples throbbed with a splitting headache, each pulse of pain matched by something new—an overwhelming rush of strength she had never known before.

Groaning softly, she sat up. Her thin fingers gripped the edge of the bed as a hollow, gnawing hunger twisted in her stomach. Her mouth felt dry, but it wasn’t water she craved. Somehow, instinctively, she knew exactly what she needed.

Blood.

The door creaked open. A security guard stepped in, making his rounds. He froze mid-step when he saw the pale teenager standing there in nothing but a morgue sheet.

"What... what are you doing here? And why are you dressed like— Wait, where are your parents?" His voice was a mix of confusion and suspicion as his eyes darted over her.

"I’m... hungry," Isobel murmured, her voice barely above a whisper.

The guard relaxed slightly. "Hungry, huh? Well, come with me. I’ll get you something to—"

"No." Her crimson-tinged eyes lifted to his. "What I want is here." Her tone was soft, almost apologetic. "I’m sorry."

She moved before he could blink, her body blurring into motion. Her fangs sank into the warm flesh of his neck, the coppery taste of blood flooding her senses. The hunger took over—desperate, consuming—and she drank greedily until his body went limp in her arms.

When she was done, she laid him on one of the morgue tables as though putting a child to bed. She wiped her mouth, her mind already cold and calculating. She couldn’t leave loose ends. A quick visit to the CCTV control room and a chillingly polite request to the operator ensured the footage was erased.

Then she left.

---

At home, Isobel felt lightheaded but... powerful. Her thoughts were sharper, memories from before her transformation snapping into place with perfect clarity.

"Revenge..." she whispered to herself, her gaze falling on a framed picture. Not of the people who had adopted her—those moody tyrants who alternated between cruelty and neglect—but of her real parents.

Her father: a man with jet-black hair, a strong build, and a face that carried both sternness and warmth.

Her mother: long, flowing hair, striking emerald eyes, and a beautiful pendant resting at her collarbone.

"Mum, Dad... I saw my elder brother earlier," she said softly, brushing her fingertips against the glass. "He’s everything you said he would be—strong, shining, a knight in white armor. The best of both of you." Her lips curled into a bitter smile. "But I wish we’d met under better circumstances. He gave me power... and with it, I’ll take revenge for you both, starting with this town."

Her voice hardened. "Brother refuses to use his strength to avenge you. That’s fine. I will. And I won’t stop until every last one of them pays."

Her eyes glowed crimson as she stepped out into the cool night, the shadows swallowing her. Behind her, there was nothing but silence. Ahead of her... carnage.

---

"You...? Hah!" The D-rank awakened laughed when she appeared before him, his posture casual, already imagining the reward he’d get for capturing her. "So you decided to surrender yourself, huh? Guess you’re smart enough to know you can’t escape us. We shouldn’t have left you for that Dumbo to handle. For a moment, I thought we’d lost you."

Isobel’s gaze locked on him, her eyes burning with fury.

"I will get my revenge on every single one of you."

She lunged before he could even raise a hand. Her fangs pierced his neck, hot blood flooding her mouth. Every swallow made her feel stronger, faster. She stopped just before draining him entirely, forced some of her own blood into his body... then snapped his neck without hesitation.

Not a gift. Not an honor. Just a curse. He’d be the lowest of the low—fodder, nothing more.

She pushed open the door to the Hunters Association. The sight of a blood-stained young girl strolling in with predatory confidence made the room go deathly still. Every hunter in sight shifted into combat stance.

"Only fifty of you here?" she mused aloud, scanning them. "I thought there’d be at least a hundred awakened and over a thousand hunters in this city. No matter. I can get to the rest after I’m done with you."

The realization hit her like lightning: the more she fed, the stronger she became. Every cell in her body responded with lethal precision, as if her brother’s blood had awakened something deeper.

"This will be a long night," she said, her tone almost playful. "I hope you’re ready—because I am."

She vanished in a blur, reappearing beside a C-rank hunter. With one swift motion, she tore his arm from its socket, his scream echoing off the walls. Another awakened rushed in; she punched him square in the chest, sending him crashing into the wall like a ragdoll.

She was a storm of blood and speed, cutting through half their number without a scratch. Those still breathing found themselves drained moments later, their corpses cooling on the floor. She fed them her blood, turning them into the lowest rank of vampire soldiers—nothing but tools for her war.

When the last body hit the floor, a heavy voice cut through the silence.

"You! What have you done?!"

The Association’s branch president stood there, heat radiating off his body in waves, his sharp suit straining against the sheer force of his presence. An S-rank awakened. Behind him, twenty-five more elites—every remaining awakened on duty—stood ready.

Isobel’s lips curved into a smile, though her eyes were devoid of warmth. "Perfect. You’re here. I just finished with the last one... and I’m already getting hungry."