The midnight air was thick with sweat and betrayal, the sound of torn flesh echoing in my ears. My vision blurred as I parried another strike from Zakir, his blade grazing my neck, a sharp reminder of how close I was to the edge. Sylva's laughter cut through the chaos, chilling and deadly, like a serpent closing in on its prey. Blood was pouring from my wounds, and my legs trembled, struggling to keep me standing.
And then it hit me.
Their eyes—where there once was kinship—now held only the cold gleam of betrayal. Zakir's blade came down again, cutting deep across my torso. I sank to my knees, the weight of it all settling in.
I should've known better, right? What did I think would happen? That we could be friends? That trust mattered here? In a world where power decides everything, I was an idiot to believe otherwise. They did what they had to do to climb higher.
Sylva's arm, now embedded in my chest, was the last thing I saw before the world went black.
***
I woke to the smell of blood and iron, the air unnervingly still. Where was I? The last thing I remembered was the storm—the rain, cold and relentless, soaking into my skin. But no, that was a nightmare. Wasn't it? I'd been fighting… someone. Not one, but two. Zakir and Sylva. Their names echoed in my mind, distant, haunting. But why had we fought?
I tried to move, only for pain to explode through my body, sending me crashing to the ground. No, this wasn't a dream. My body was a wreck. I looked down at myself, half-expecting Sylva's arm to be lodged there. But there was nothing. No arm. Just blood, bruises, and cuts, the remnants of a fight that didn't quite make sense.
"Didn't I die?" I muttered.
The landscape was unfamiliar. The trees loomed unnaturally tall, and the sky above was a crimson red, a sickly hue I couldn't place.
I stumbled toward a nearby pond, desperate to wash the blood and grime from my face. But when I looked into the water, my reflection wasn't mine. The face staring back was pale as death, with eyes burning bright red.
A vampire. It was the only word that fit.
I leaned closer to the water, studying the face that wasn't mine but somehow felt like it was. This wasn't human.
And yet… this was me now.
The realization hit like a blow to the chest.
I was in someone else's body.
Hours passed before I noticed something strange. At first, I thought I was simply growing used to the pain. But then, my wounds—those deep, bloody cuts—began to heal. Slowly, but unmistakably, they closed, as if my body had learned how to fix itself. I bled, yes, but it didn't weaken me. If anything, the blood, my blood, surged through me, filling me with power.
This wasn't a curse.
I wasn't some poor soul bound by fate.
I was a weapon.
A weapon made for war—not by choice, but because that's what my body remembered.
And maybe that was the cruelest part. I didn't want revenge. I wanted answers.
I spent hours trying to remember—to move like the person whose body I had taken. Fast. Precise. Deadly. But no matter how many times I reenacted those moves, I failed. My balance was off. My strikes clumsy, slow. There was no power behind them.
But I knew what I saw. Whoever this body had belonged to, he had been trained. I was not.
Yet, his emotions—rage, betrayal, grief—coursed through me. They weren't mine, but they felt all too familiar. I could feel his final moments, his soul unwilling to rest. It was as if he was still here, lingering in my body, unwilling to let go.
And maybe that's what it was—his anger was my anger now. His betrayal, mine.
He died unjustly, stabbed in the back, just like my brother had.
And I would carry that burden. I would finish what he couldn't.
With fire burning in my chest, I followed the footprints of the ones who had ended my life.
I found them in a small clearing, familiar faces staring back at me. None of them looked human, but maybe the old me would've recognized them. Some were resting, others crying.
And then, her voice.
Sylva.
She stood in the center of them all, her face wet with fake tears.
"He told us to run," she said, her voice cracking, too perfect. "He stood between us and the beast. He sacrificed himself so we could live."
Zakir stood behind her, silent, grim, eyes fixed on the ground. The perfect lie.
The perfect story.
A hero's death. For the man they tried to murder.
I could feel the rage swelling inside me again. The emotions I'd felt earlier—those lingering echoes of this body's owner—came crashing back, stronger than before. I couldn't blame him for the hatred. I had seen it too, in my own world, with my brother. A death veiled by lies.
But something stopped me.
A memory. My brother, Zhao Lin.
People don't commit crimes because they want to. They do it because the world leaves them with no other choice.
Could it be? Was this world really so different from mine?
I stepped into the clearing, my presence drawing shocked stares. Especially from Sylva and Zakir, who didn't seem to know what to make of me.
"The White Demon is still alive…?" one of them whispered.
Sylva's hand trembled, her expression faltering.
"Impossible, no one survives a crushed heart. Not even vampires like you."
I couldn't help but smile. "Funny, yet here I am."
Zakir stepped forward, eyes narrowing. "How? We saw you die, White Demon. Your body was cold, lifeless—how…?" His words trailed off, but I let the silence fill the space.
"You forget who you're talking to. Me? Death? I'm not someone death can claim so easily—not when the story's just begun." A twisted smile curled at my lips.
For once, I felt justified. Terrified as they were, they had reason to be.
But beneath the rage, there was something else. Something I wasn't ready to lose. I didn't want to be what they made me. A demon. A monster. Someone whose only thought was revenge.
I let out a slow breath, calming the storm inside me.
"Don't worry," I said softly. "You were right. I did die. But it seems I don't remember much about when I came back. Relax. I don't hate you enough to kill you. But I do remember enough to know I'll never forgive you."
Their faces twisted in fear and confusion. The man they once knew would've torn them apart already.
But this wasn't vengeance.
This was a new world. A new beginning.
A new chance to find the truth—and to fulfill the promise I made at my brother's grave.