Consciousness returned not as a gentle light, but as the violent collision of two distinct lives. Images, sounds, and feelings clashed in a mental cacophony, one existence layered over another.
On one side, the memories of Michael, a man from Earth. A life of routines, mundane knowledge, common victories and defeats, ended abruptly and without ceremony.
On the other, the memories of Gasper Vladi. A life of fear, of reclusion in dark rooms, of mistreatment for being a Dhampir, and the terror of an uncontrollable power that imprisoned him both physically and psychologically.
The fusion was brutal, but Michael's older mind, forged in a different reality, emerged dominant, assimilating the torrent of the young vampire's traumas. Confusion gave way to a shocking understanding.
'Fuck, I reincarnated as the "trap" vampire. What the hell.'
The thought echoed with the clarity of a sentence. He was in Gasper Vladi's body, inside the cardboard box that served as the boy's refuge, confined in the sealed room of the Occult Research Club.
With effort, he pushed the box lid open, the dusty light of the room invading his cardboard sanctuary. The air was stagnant, heavy with the smell of old books and loneliness.
He stood up, feeling the strangeness of limbs that weren't his, a small and fragile body. His eyes caught his reflection in a mirror leaning against the wall, and indignation struck him like a physical blow.
Platinum-blond hair, pink eyes, and the female school uniform of Kuoh Academy. The sight was as repulsive as the realization of his new reality. Anger bubbled, hot and immediate, but was contained by a wave of cold pragmatism.
'Breathe, Michael. Now you're Gasper. I have to be careful, I can't let Rias suspect me. I need to change gradually.'
He forced himself to steady his breathing, his heart hammering in a chest that wasn't his. The fear and anxiety of the original Gasper weren't there, but the caution of a survivor took their place.
This was his new life, his new prison. And he would need a plan to escape it.
He pulled away from the mirror, the humiliating image still burning in his mind. His eyes swept across the dusty room, a confinement that for the former owner was a refuge, but for him, only a cell.
'I need to fix this. Grow. Get stronger. And tear off these ridiculous clothes.'
The thought was a silent promise, a concrete goal amid the chaos of his new reality. Survival depended on power, and he was determined to obtain it.
Then a new sensation struck him, subtle at first, like ordinary hunger.
But it grew. Fast, insidious, transforming into a sharp, throbbing pain in his gums. His throat dried as if he had gone days without water. But it wasn't thirst for liquid—it was something far deeper.
"Shit... what the hell is this...?"
He brought his hand to his mouth, clenching his teeth. The fangs were there, sensitive, protruding, throbbing with a desire that wasn't his.
It wasn't hunger for food. It was a visceral craving. An instinctive call for something warm, metallic, and alive.
"Blood..."
The word slipped out as a whisper, loaded with both disgust and need. The smell of it—imaginary, yet overwhelming—seemed to cling to the air, awakening something that had slept beneath his skin.
GRRRRRRRRR...
A low, guttural growl vibrated in his throat. His eyes widened, startled by the sound that had just escaped him.
"That came from me...?"
Michael's mind resisted, but the Dhampir's instinct was a storm. He staggered back, colliding against the wall. His fingers clenched into a trembling fist.
CRACK!
With an explosion of brute force, he punched the wall beside the mirror. The impact was sharp and deep, opening a crater in the concrete and sending a cloud of dust into the room's stifling air.
He panted, his chest rising and falling irregularly.
"Son of a bitch..."
He looked at his scraped knuckles, red but barely painful. The outburst faded as quickly as it came, but the damage was done. Not to the wall. To him.
The silence that followed was heavy. Dense. He smelled the dust, but all he wanted was the taste of something alive.
The strength he had used to break the wall wasn't Michael's. It was this body's strength, a latent violence the original Gasper had never shown.
'How did that vampire endure this? How is it possible?'
The thought came, a spark of genuine bewilderment. He looked at the hole in the wall, then at his small, pale hands.
'This strength... this hunger... it was all here the whole time. Hidden under all that timidity and tears.'
A new understanding began to take shape, shifting his perception of the boy he despised. The original Gasper's fear wasn't only of people or open spaces.
'He wasn't weak. He was holding back. The bastard was holding back with everything he had.'
Timidity was a cage. The desire to be good, a chain. Things Michael, in his pragmatic essence, considered luxuries, were the barriers that contained this power.
His thoughts were abruptly interrupted.
A sound.
It came from the hallway, beyond the sealed door. Footsteps, quick and determined, echoing in the silence.
TAP, TAP, TAP, TAP...
Someone was approaching, and they weren't trying to be discreet. The sound grew louder, a countdown to the end of his isolation.
His body reacted before his mind, a shiver running down his spine. He instinctively backed away, eyes fixed on the massive wooden door.
'Rias. It has to be her. Or maybe Akeno. Who else would come here?'
The initial panic, a phantom echo of the old Gasper, was quickly crushed by Michael's cold logic. He didn't have time to be afraid. He had time to think.
'Okay, improvise. They expect a scared boy, a crying shut-in. If I act like myself, they'll notice instantly. They'll think I'm possessed, or worse.'
The footsteps stopped right in front of the door. The silence that followed was almost louder than the noise.
'I can't be Michael. But to be Gasper... to be that pathetic coward... I refuse.'
He looked at the hole he had made in the wall, then at his hands. A dangerous but necessary idea began to form.
'A change. I need an excuse for a change in behavior. The seal, the isolation... I can say something... broke. That the time alone changed me.'
'Not a complete transformation. That would be suspicious. But a crack in the mask. The fear is still there, but something else... something hardened beneath it.'
He forced himself to shrink, sliding down the wall until he sat on the floor, hugging his knees. A defensive posture. An imitation of fear.
'I'll stay quiet. Let them make the first move. Observe, analyze, respond. Fewer words, more observation. They'll fill the blanks with what they already believe about me.'
'Fake it until I make it. That's it. The game has started.'
A metallic click sounded from the other side of the door.
CLANK.
Then, the sharp noise of magical seals unraveling into the air like a released charge.
ZAAAAAP.
The doorknob turned slowly.
The massive wooden door opened with a long, ominous creak, as if protesting its own movement.
Two figures hurried inside, their presence filling the space with overwhelming energy. Rias Gremory, with her crimson hair, and Akeno Himejima, her enigmatic smile now absent, looked tense, their eyes sweeping the room like alert predators.
Their gaze stopped first on the wall. The crater in the concrete and the suspended dust revealed brutal strength. It was a shocking anomaly in that stagnant confinement.
Their eyes then moved, finding the small figure curled up in the opposite corner. There sat Gasper, trembling, his face buried in his knees, the perfect image of the frightened boy they knew.
The sight of the timid vampire clashed violently with the evidence of raw power on the wall. Rias and Akeno exchanged a quick glance, the concern on their faces now mixed with a new and unsettling uncertainty.
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