My Blood Legacy: Reincarnated as a Vampire

He sighed, tightening his grip on the sword resting on his shoulder, his sharp eyes scanning the wreckage as if they could extract answers from the chaos.

"Those Valkyries... should've handled this mess more cleanly. What the hell happened here?" he thought, irritation creeping into his mind. He should have been resting, recovering his strength, but a restless unease compelled him to rise from his bed and head to the fortress. Now, he was facing the chaos that awaited him.

"Well, let's see how they're doing," he murmured, sensing the presence of the girls.

He walked with heavy steps, his sword resting on his shoulder like an extension of himself, while his eyes calculated every detail around him. Bodies lay scattered on the ground, a grotesque mix of warriors and creatures. But what truly troubled him was the deep silence, as if the battlefield itself hesitated to reveal what had transpired.

The unease grew within him. "Those Valkyries were tasked with taking care of this... What went wrong here?" he thought, irritation mounting. They were fierce and skilled, trained to combat any foe, but the sight of the mangled bodies and the absence of the warriors was a bad omen.

Following his instincts, Dante entered through the fortress's broken gates, moving with lethal precision. There was no sign of a recent fight, only the sinister calm that settles after a devastating battle. It was then that he felt their presence—the Valkyries were there, somewhere inside the stronghold. But something was off. He didn't feel the usual vigor emanating from them; instead, there was a heavy darkness in their presence.

Walking through the crumbling halls, his footsteps echoed in the darkness until he finally reached the main hall of the fortress. There, in the center of what was once Svarsk's defensive heart, Dante stopped, his eyes narrowing at the sight before him.

The Valkyries were on the ground, defeated, their armor torn and their bodies wounded. They were not dead, but they had clearly been subdued. And above them, like a king upon a throne, sat a werewolf. Gigantic and imposing, his presence radiated an aura of savagery and indomitable strength. His silver-gray fur shimmered in the torchlight, and a deep scar ran across his right eye, giving him an even more menacing appearance.

He lounged atop a makeshift pile of rubble, as if merely waiting, and as soon as he saw Dante, a twisted, cruel smile formed on his lupine face.

"Finally... the great Dante Scarlet," the werewolf growled with a mocking, deep voice. "Took you long enough to show up. I thought I was going to miss the fun."

Dante stood frozen, his eyes locked on the werewolf. His mind processed the scene before him as anger surged within him. The Valkyries, his allies, powerful warriors, had been humiliated by this creature. He tightened his grip on the sword's hilt so forcefully that the sound of metal nearly cutting through the air echoed through the hall.

'Not a simple opponent... was he blessed by Fenrir?... something's wrong,' he thought.

"What did you do to them?" Dante's voice was low, controlled, but it carried an implicit threat; he was truly losing his patience now that he had seen this scene. He knew how important they were to Valentina...

The werewolf merely shrugged, his bulky muscles shifting as if the gesture was nothing more than a pastime for him. "Oh, nothing much. They thought they were so tough, but..." He glanced at the fallen Valkyries, a look of contempt in his eyes. "They were no match for me. It was even disappointing; I expected someone trained their whole life by the most brutal Demon of Vampires to put up a better fight."

The provocation was clear, and the werewolf knew exactly what he was doing. He was poking at Dante, testing his limits, toying with his patience.

"I shouldn't be surprised," the werewolf continued, rising slowly and exaggeratedly, his eyes glinting with malice. "I've always heard that Dante's allies are strong, but if this is what you have to offer... well, maybe your reputation is overrated."

Dante could feel his blood boiling. He had always been someone who controlled his emotions with lethal precision, but that werewolf was pushing him right to the edge of his patience. The air around Dante seemed to tremble as his spiritual pressure mounted.

"If you wanted my attention, werewolf, congratulations. You've got it." Dante stepped forward, his voice now laced with fury. "But I guarantee you'll regret it."

The werewolf laughed, a deep, guttural sound. "Regret? No, I'm looking forward to the moment you're crawling, begging for mercy. Just like these girls here."

That was enough. Before the werewolf could finish his sentence, Dante charged. In a swift, fierce movement, he closed the distance between them. Rebellion cut through the air in a violent arc, aimed directly at the werewolf's head.

But the creature was ready. With surprising reflexes, the werewolf dodged, rolling to the side, and in an instant, the two were locked in an intense struggle.

"Oh, you're fast," the werewolf murmured as he turned back to the fight, lunging at Dante fearlessly.

The sound of metal clashing against claws reverberated through the hall as Dante struck blow after blow, each one fueled by a rising fury.

'The speed of this guy…' Dante thought, the werewolf was fast, faster than anyone he had faced in a long time. He moved with animalistic agility, dodging and countering with brutal strength. His claws sliced through the air, attempting to reach Dante at every opportunity.

The stone floor of the fortress trembled with each impact. Despite his anger, Dante fought with the skill of an experienced warrior, calculating every movement, every attack. The fight grew increasingly violent, each blow a test of strength and endurance.

'I can't unleash my hellish powers… the girls won't survive them. Even though I'd probably kill this guy, I'd lose them… It's not worth it,' he thought, but soon, the werewolf drew his attention again.

"You're stronger than I expected," the werewolf growled, blocking another strike with his claws, sparks flying through the air. "But still… not enough."

With his eyes glowing with determination, Dante didn't respond with words but with action. He spun his sword in a downward motion, but the werewolf jumped back, narrowly avoiding the attack. Then the werewolf lunged fiercely, attempting to grab Dante by the throat.

Dante barely managed to evade the sharp claws that passed dangerously close to his skin. He sidestepped and, taking advantage of the opening, delivered a powerful kick to the creature's abdomen, sending him stumbling back several meters.

The two faced each other for a moment, both breathing heavily, their bodies tense and ready for the next move. The werewolf grinned, licking his lips as if savoring the fight.

"Is that all you've got, Dante?" The provocative tone was back. "I thought the legendary monster hunter would be more than this."

Dante gritted his teeth. He knew the werewolf was just trying to get under his skin, but it was hard to ignore the rage bubbling inside him. He had to end this, and fast.

With a roar of determination, Dante charged again, his sword shining with renewed intensity. The werewolf charged as well, claws poised to shred flesh and bone. The fight reached its climax, a clash between wild brutality and sharpened skill.

They collided once more, and the hall filled with the sounds of metal against flesh, the thunder of the walls cracking under the impact of their bodies, and the heavy breaths of two warriors who refused to fall.

As Dante and the werewolf continued their brutal confrontation, a strange sensation began to form within him. It was as if his internal energy was stirring, a chaotic and visceral force demanding release. He felt an uncontrollable ferocity, a desire to devastate, to consume everything around him. Instead of tapping into his usual infernal powers, he decided to channel this chaotic energy, allowing it to flow through his body, invading every fiber of his being.

Dante concentrated this energy into his sword, the blade beginning to glow with a pulsing black light, as if it were alive. The atmosphere around him shifted, the pressure in the air intensifying as he felt the power in his weapon grow. The werewolf, sensing the change, hesitated for a brief moment, his eyes widening in understanding and fear.

With a primal scream that echoed through the fortress, Dante unleashed a powerful strike, his sword slicing through the air with the intention of ending the fight once and for all. The impact was devastating. The blade met the werewolf's arm, and a deep cut formed, leaving a trail of black light in its wake.

The werewolf howled in pain, a mix of surprise and horror etched on his face. The once strong and agile arm was severed in a fluid motion. What should have been a wound that quickly healed was now a catastrophe. Blood gushed like a scarlet river, but instead of flowing freely, it began to be consumed by a black mist emerging from Dante's blade.

The excruciating pain made the werewolf fall to his knees, his face contorted in agony. "What have you done?!" he screamed, his voice resonating with despair. The black mist surrounding his blood seemed to feed on the very essence of his life, and the regeneration that had once made him nearly immortal was now fading away, leaving him vulnerable and exposed.

Dante watched, his heart racing with a mix of triumph and confusion. He had never experienced anything like this; it was as if the very nature of the fight was turning against the werewolf. The mist continued to expand, consuming his blood and draining his life force, making the monster scream in pain and desperation.

"You made a foolish choice in underestimating me," Dante declared, his voice firm and relentless. The sensation of power and control pulsed within him, and he knew he was about to turn the tide in his favor once and for all.

The werewolf, now marked by pain, struggled to rise, but the wounds weakened him with every movement. He looked at Dante, his expression of defiance shifting to a mix of dread and disbelief. "This isn't possible… I'm a full moon wolf, I can't…"

"It doesn't matter who you think you are," Dante interrupted, advancing once more. He was determined to end this. The chaotic energy pulsed within him, now perfectly aligned with his will. He was no longer just a hunter; he was an agent of chaos, and that was something the werewolf could not comprehend.

With a swift motion, Dante lunged forward again. The black mist seemed to dance around the sword, as if it were alive. He delivered a precise blow, striking the werewolf in the side. The impact was so powerful it sent the creature sprawling, its body twisting in agony.

The werewolf hit the ground heavily, the open wounds now ablaze with the black mist that continued to consume him. He tried to fight back, to get up, but the energy that had once fueled his strength was dissipating rapidly. The pain was unbearable, and the life force that had always sustained him was being drained by that devastating attack.

"You… you can't defeat me like this!" he shouted, but his words were growing weaker. The black mist swirled around him, and Dante could see life slipping away from him, his gaze now turning desperate.

Dante, on the other hand, felt stronger with each passing second. "I am the storm you never expected," he declared, raising his sword once more. The blade glimmered ominously, reflecting the essence of the very chaos that fueled him. "And this is your last night."

The werewolf struggled to stand, but there was no strength left in his body. "No… don't do this…" he whispered, the bravery from before dissipating like smoke. "I'm a predator… I can't… I can't die like this!"

Dante didn't hesitate. He knew he had to finish this before the werewolf could rise again. With a cry of determination, he charged one last time, his sword raised, the black mist pulsating around him like a vortex of destruction.

"Enough!" he shouted, and the blade met the werewolf in a final strike, piercing his heart. The impact was immediate; the black mist erupted in a spectacle of light and shadow, consuming the creature and taking with it the last remnants of life.

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