Chapter 4
The vampire stood just a few feet away. Its body squirmed slightly, the intensity steadily increasing. The stench followed with the bubbling sound of bodily fluids. He could feel the blood in the soil converging towards the vampire. Miasma from every corner of the plain made its way towards the vampire; the Miasma was so thick it was visible to his naked eye, increasing the pressure on everything, the soil and even him.
Reginald looked around, heart pounding with astonishment.
'What was going on?' he wondered as he tried to put distance between him and the eye of the storm.
The intensity of the squirming increased in the vampire as its body slowly dissolved. All its body mass dissolved into a single, floating mass of blood, moving with beautiful dynamics. A hypnotic mass revolving like the perfect vortex.
The blood mass remained like that for a few seconds before becoming agitated again. The blood mass slowly took the form of a book.
'A book, how anti-climactic,' Reginald thought.
That was until the book started to float towards him. He tried to run but multiple torsos of blood-drained corpses reached out from the soil and held his leg in place, all while mumbling words in the dark tongue. Their grip felt solid and gritty as expected of a moistureless corpse.
Reginald now knew beyond any reasonable doubt that whatever was happening here was happening because of him, and he was the prime recipient. His heart pounded with reckless abandon, as if it was gripped by the hands of a blood-starved vampire.
The Book of Blood slowly floated to him, stopping a few inches from his face. Floating there right before him, it then, with abrupt speed, dissolved and forced its way into Reginald's head through all its orifices: his mouth, eyes, ears, and nose.
Reginald choked on the rotten blood, still fighting to breathe to stop whatever it was that was going on. He suffocated but resisted the pressure from the blood. He could feel the blood digging into his brain, and his brain squirmed in response, as if it was threatened to be crushed by the invading blood, pushing Reginald to the brink.
And then, the blood disappeared and so had its pressure. And so was Hell.
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His name was Jacob. He wrote this book, The Book of Blood. He was the youngest son of the Guerrera matriarch, and he wrote the book while behind enemy lines. This book contained all the knowledge of the first Layer of Hell, The Hell of Blood: its history, geography, biology of the living beings there, and ways to steal their power or control them.
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A proud army of white and gold. In their sigil, the Eternal Phoenix. This sigil was known to every living being in the world. It was the sigil of the Guerrera family.
As the army came out of the gates of Hell, they marched on the plain. In response, every being, demon or lowly ghoul, charged at them with ferocity and power unparalleled. Soon steel clashed with flesh and brought about fresh slaughter.
The army was valiant. The infantry, clad in heavy armor that made them seem like giants, and archers, also in lighter full-body armor, rode on heavily armored Phoenixes, so armored you couldn't see a feather.
The bird was nothing short of majestic. Its silver armor masking its fiery red feathers brought about a contrasting feeling in anyone that beheld it.
With skill and precision, they dispatched all of their opponents with ease.
Ninety days was all it took the Guerrera army to conquer the first Layer of Hell.
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With a gasp, he woke up violently, spasming all over his body, drenched in perspiration. Metallic after taste present on his tongue.
Reginald drew a shallow breath as he traced his hand across his face to make sure he wasn't still choked by the blood.
Information was flashing across his mind violently, akin to loads of books being forced into a small box.
He knew how big the Hell of Blood truly was. The Hell of Blood itself was as big as two continents. He knew how long it took the Guerrera's to conquer it. He knew where the battlefields were, where everything was.
However, he only knew how to summon and control vampires. He also knew how to become a vampire and become Scorched too.
It seemed the entire charade was merely a selection ritual, and his action of shooting the vampire made him inherit the knowledge on vampires. The Book of Blood was currently in his spiritual sea, a new term to him before this encounter. The book must have attached itself to him when he transmigrated.
Where he was wasn't actually the Hell of Blood; it was the internal space within the book, and he could go back. All he needed to do was absorb Miasma, another headache for later.
Reginald wondered where the book came from. He inherited the knowledge of the Guerrera family through his predecessor's memories. He knew that the Guerreras were a big deal, and seeing how powerful their army was, he knew why their influence still lingered on.
He slowly stood up, walked to the kitchen. He drew water from the water vat and indulged in its coldness.
'I really needed to stop falling unconscious.' he thought.
The past few events had proved that he needed strength. He was too weak and was dragged along by any storm that passed. Things had changed, however. Now he had all conceivable knowledge on The Hell of Blood and, most importantly, all knowledge on vampires.
This was his greatest boon. He needed to strengthen himself as fast as possible. Now he had the knowledge; all that was required was the materials. The most important of which was the Heart of Vampire. Upon death, specific organs or parts of beings of Hell chrysalize to form materials. The Heart of Vampire was one such material exclusive to vampires.
Reginald wasn't worried about getting a Heart of Vampire. As an inspector, he knew that there were some in storage back at the precinct. It was meant to be turned into the Ministry of Hell Affairs, but a few missing vampire hearts wouldn't be missed.
Ever since he transmigrated, he hadn't been to the precinct. Reginald had no option anymore. His future safety depended on it. His next stop, tomorrow morning, would be the Department of Supernatural Clean-up.