Origins of Blood[Has been republished]

Lynn Street 16, at the corner of the Monument of the Goddess of Night.

Elliot clutched a crumpled white document with an orange signature in his left hand. With his right, he knocked three times on the door. Alone beneath the starry sky, the golden moon shone brightly above him, casting a warm glow that mingled with the distant mist.

Click!

With a downcast gaze, Elliot raised his left hand slightly. "Are we finally here?" Edwin chuckled, glancing at the back of Elliot's head, playfully swatting him with his rolled-up newspaper. "You red-bloods are nothing but vermin!"

As Edwin caught sight of the document—or rather, the contract—he intended to slam the door shut and retreat into the house. However, despite his trembling hands and quaking knees, Elliot managed to prop the door open with his fingers. He bit down hard on his lip, tensing his body against the growing panic. Tears brimmed in his eyes as he clutched his nearly healed palm with his right hand, forcing himself to maintain control.

"Is that the rebellious phase of the Red Bloods?" Edwin laughed, his tone light rather than malicious. But soon, he furrowed his brow. "What's with that?"

Elliot responded, his voice barely above a whisper as the throbbing in his hand intensified. "At my job, they said I should come washed." He held up his pulsating, veined hand, his gaze fixed downward.

With another playful thump to the back of Elliot's head, Edwin spoke in a condescending tone. "There's a public bath for you red-blooded scum just around the corner." He reached for the door again, threatening to close it. "Take a right on Lynn Street, then left at Iron Street."

Pow! Whoosh!

A gust of wind tousled Elliot's hair, missing his nose this time. Internally, he chuckled, Not this time. But his focus remained fixed on the rolled newspaper, glimmering in the moonlight that was slowly obscured by drifting clouds. "Red blood beneath us," he murmured to himself as he made his way to his dark room. The door swung open automatically.

"Not even locked…" Yet Elliot remained transfixed on the newspaper, leaning against the cold, dark wall. Stretching his trembling legs, he squinted at the illegible text in the dimness of the room.

…

Zentria Worldview – 3rd Astra 1613 AORB

The Breach of the Pact with the Red Bloods: Red Blood Among Us!

On the 3rd of Astra, 1613, according to the AORB calendar, we have broken the long-standing treaty with the Red Bloods. They have become increasingly audacious; their resources are dwindling, and with them, their value. Particularly on our continent, Elisia, which borders the Earth, internal conflicts have ignited. Noble families such as Rosenmahl, ZwischenBrück, Heide, Reichenfell, Jägerssohn, and many more have demanded an end to the alliance. Their argument is straightforward: To extract more profit from the losses. More slaves mean more workers, leading to greater entertainment through active intervention on the Earth. Passive observation or occasional visits are no longer sufficient.

We have never had the opportunity to demonstrate our superiority over the Red Bloods in full—an outdated and exhausting limitation that may have been thrilling centuries ago, but is no longer relevant today.

Now, these Red Bloods dare to rebel against us! What began with a mere handful is swelling in numbers. More of them have begun to harness the power of the blood system. Who would have thought that these rat-like beings could defeat the Green Bloods, the shapeshifters? This means they are either on their way here or perhaps already among us.

The population is thus urged to remain vigilant. Observe your neighbors, friends, and even family members closely. Any unusual behavior could be a sign that a Red Blood has assumed their form. A reward of 10 Elis is offered for every Red Blood—alive or dead.

…

Elliot's eyes widened in disbelief as his pain and worries evaporated. His heart raced as he read the newspaper, his gaze darting from the page to the wall and back again. Finally, his mouth closed, and his eyes shut, a faint smile creasing his lips. He felt at ease, his pulse beginning to settle.

In his left hand, he clutched the newspaper, but his grip relaxed until it slipped from his fingers and fell to the cold floor. Beside the sleeping Elliot lay the open newspaper, displaying the wanted notices of 14 individuals, each adorned with a bounty of 10 Elis. Among them was a muscular, sun-kissed man with a massive tattoo covering his right arm, an elegant red-haired woman, and a slender young boy of about sixteen with black hair. Another tall, lean man had a model-like face. Yet amidst the 14 individuals, a blonde young man stood out, his azure eyes hidden beneath the crowd. His gaze was cold, and his clothes stained in various colors. It was Ren—Elliot's older brother.

…

In the dark void.

When Elliot opened his eyes, he found himself once again in the black space. It seemed empty, save for the glowing blue crystal. This time, Elliot refrained from rushing toward the crystal; instead, he walked in the opposite direction. Yet his surroundings did not change. Whenever he turned around, he was met again by the shimmering blue crystal.

As he pondered, he spun around again and again, his brows furrowed in confusion. What is this place?

Shhiiing!

Suddenly, it began to dim, and before Elliot knew it, he spotted another light in addition to the blue one. His face and body were now illuminated by a faint, bluish-green glow emanating from a crystal. He squeezed his eyes shut, finding that even his hand could cast no shadow before him. After a few seconds, the blinding light faded behind his eyelids, plunging him back into darkness.

Green color? Does that signify a new body? A shiver coursed down Elliot's spine. Don't tell me the colors reflect the blood… Yet, after a few more moments, he sought the positive. Perhaps there are vegan shapeshifters too… He gazed deeply into the dimming light of the green crystal, but the blue one vanished from his peripheral vision in an instant.

"No, no, no!" He sprinted toward the blue light, desperate to touch it, but nothing happened despite his frantic efforts. Elliot's brows furrowed in a serious expression as he regarded the still-glowing green crystal. It seems I have no real choice. How many hours would I have to wait otherwise? It's not like I want to watch people get eaten… His expression darkened as he reached out to grasp the green crystal.

Whoooosh!

…

Along Belington Street in the Kingdom of Nigil.

A man cloaked in black garb, hooded and masked, strode purposefully through the darkness. His strides were long, yet unhurried. The only discernible features were his slightly lighter blue-gray eyes. He walked steadily as the rain began to fall more heavily, a stark contrast to the serene starry sky and golden moon. Only a few passersby rushed by, shielding themselves with their umbrellas or shirts. Yet the man in black continued calmly through the downpour until he turned right and pushed open a door reminiscent of those from the Wild West.

He stood tall, his cold gaze scrutinizing the stares of those present, some instinctively reaching for their pockets while others grasped knives or pistols. Their expressions were serious, unflinching at the prospect of violence. Finally, he turned his attention to the bartender, who sported a sleek, slicked-back hairstyle. His thin, old-fashioned mustache was gray and white, and despite the wrinkles around his eyes, he appeared surprisingly youthful for his age. He juggled two glasses filled with an unspecified liquid, casting glances toward the man in black—Elliot.

What the hell is going on here? Am I in some bad Wild West film? Elliot sighed inwardly but managed a smile, relieved that he didn't appear to be in immediate danger of being devoured.

"A Mojito, Wyan style," he ordered in a deep voice.

The bartender met his request with calm eyes and a nod, continuing to shake the bottle. His own voice was deep and gravelly, "Coming right up." As Elliot felt a chill from the gaze of the others, the man in black settled comfortably onto a tall wooden stool at the bar, allowing his black garb and mask to drape over the backrest. He now wore only a tight-fitting shirt that accentuated his muscular physique. Bandages peeked out from under the sleeves, revealing scars on his exposed skin. His face was clean-shaven and well-groomed, his black hair falling to his ears and parted down the middle.

As he glanced at his reflection in the glass window filled with bottles, Elliot couldn't help but whistle inwardly. Not bad, he thought, taking a longer look until the bartender turned his attention back to the muscular man.

"You can leave now." The muscular man's cold gaze remained fixed on the elegant bartender, who gestured toward the back door. The other patrons' expressions darkened, their grim stares shifting to the man until they resumed their own drinks. The raucous conversations abruptly ceased.

Was that a password?! A real one used to gain access to someone powerful and secretive? Elliot felt a mix of tension and excitement. Either this will play out like in the movies or… well, like in the movies. He sighed inwardly, watching as the muscular man walked toward the back door.

It was darker than in the previous room, hardly illuminated by candles or oil lamps as was typical. There truly seems to be no electricity here, Elliot mused as he stared through the eyes of the muscular man into the darkness. Only one candle flickered on a small table. Seated before it was a large man dressed in a black suit. He was nearly indistinguishable, save for the stark contrast of his pale skin. The figure gazed timelessly into the small, dancing flame.

"So small and so fragile…"

Whoooshh!

In an instant, the tiny orange-yellow flame extinguished, and Elliot along with the muscular man heard a whisper. "Who sent you?" The voice was rough and its breath cold. As Elliot recoiled inwardly, teetering on the edge of collapse, the muscular man stared coldly at the extinguished candle. With a mere snap of his fingers, the candle flickered back to life, along with the chandelier above and many others in the room, illuminating the bar—a cozy, cluttered space filled with brown hues, shelves, and books scattered about.

"I'm from Markus, Markus Linnegar, and he said to find Reggy." The man in the black suit, now clearly visible as Reggy, returned to his previous seat with uncanny speed. The change in air pressure sent the muscular man's medium-length black hair flying to the side.

"Markus, huh…" Reggy crossed his legs and inquired, "What kind of job are you willing to take?"

The muscular man replied, void of any emotion, "Anything."

Reggy clapped his hands, "Ah, that's the kind I prefer! Hehe." Rising, he fixed his gaze on Elliot and the muscular man, stating, "There's a little dilemma. An esteemed anonymous individual has asked me to eliminate his enemy. But this esteemed enemy is rather far away—about 10,000 kilometers in Zentria. As you can imagine, few are willing to travel there, especially since it's a jurisdictional kingdom, which means you're completely out of luck if caught. Well, that applies to the weak, but you… dear turquoise sky, you look strong. The job is quite simple: you only need to take out a small subgroup of an organization and retrieve a specific artifact to deliver it to a designated location. For 300 Elis, the job is yours."

As Reggy awaited a response, a wide grin spread across his face, his hands rubbing together. Before he could speak again, a sharp whisper pierced the air around Elliot and the muscular man, accompanied by a prick and a trickle of green blood. Reggy scooped a drop of the blood with his finger and said, "You can start making your way to Zentria. Along the way, I'll send you certain messages. However, do bear in mind that you must always carry an open wound and a piece of paper with you." He added with a grim smile, "Otherwise, I won't be able to reach you, my dear."

With a shabby grin, Reggy bid farewell and snapped his fingers, causing the darkness in the room to spread once more. However, the muscular man—inside whom Elliot resided—was already outside, and not a single soul in the bar paid him any mind. Even the bartender only acknowledged him with an elegant glance while reshaping ice cubes into spheres.

…

Stepping out of the bar and into the dark night illuminated by the golden moon, the muscular man strode deeper into the colored mist that swirled around him. He continued until he paused at a side alley. The air was damp, shrouded in darkness and the stench of decay. Broken bottles, vomit, and various pieces of litter littered the ground. Yet amidst the chaos lay a figure. A young man, appearing in his early twenties, with disheveled brown hair and soiled clothes. His eyes, an unsettling shade of blue without pupils, stared blankly into the void. Blood and maggots oozed from his mouth and ears, and blue tears streamed down his face. But he was long gone—dead.

In an instant, as the muscular man touched the lifeless body, a transformation began. The black hair shifted to brown, and the grayish-brown eyes morphed into a blend of dark green and orange. The once stark features of the face became rounder, exuding an unsettling allure. He appeared younger and more innocent, yet the coldness lingered in the corners of his mouth and the depths of his eyes. Stripped down to nothing but socks and underwear, the young man—a now-vibrant being—reached for clean clothes resting on a dry stone beneath an overhang just a few meters down the dark alley.

With swift efficiency, he dressed in beige trousers, brown leather shoes, and a white shirt layered with a beige vest. After brushing off the remnants of dirt from his chest and legs, he rifled through the pockets of the still-lifeless young man. He retrieved a leather wallet and an identification card. "Eriksson Trieasta," he murmured, savoring the name. "Eriksson Trieasta, thank you very much." His gaze remained cold as he stared out onto the street, still battered by the golden fog and relentless rain.

Yet as Eriksson continued down the road, Elliot felt a wave of immense pain radiate from his head. It was as if a jackhammer were smashing into his skull. "Arghhh!" A sound escaped his lips, but no one heard him; Eriksson kept moving through the frigid rain. Damn it, not again! In a flash, reminiscent of his experience with Aston, the blue-blooded man, Elliot was engulfed in agony and bombarded by fleeting images. They flickered before him, indistinct and rapid, yet one stood out—a small child chained in utter darkness, surrounded by dried blood.