Chapter 18 – "The Heir of Nightmares"
A crimson fog cloaked Oliver's mind. It wasn't pain this time—it was something else. Cold. Unyielding. Like the weight of an ancient gaze pressing down on him from all sides.
Then, a whisper—not quite a whisper, more like a smirk hidden behind a voice—rang in his ears.
> "Congratulations, unfortunate inheritor! You've now inherited the Will of the Demon Deity, Asmodeus—Lord of Blood and Nightmares. Good luck sleeping... ever again."
A glowing sigil pulsed before him, shaped like a crooked crown made of bone and blood. Another icon blinked into view.
> "Integration of the Bloodline of Asmodeus: 7%. Congratulations, you magnificent meatbag."
A pause.
> "You must be wondering, what did you just agree to? Don't worry. So am I!"
It laughed. Oliver scowled. But just as he had asked in his mind who or what was talking, he suddenly realized that it was his own newly acquired Bloodline mocking him.
But then came the rush—icons and glyphs spilling into the space around him like falling stars.
> "Bloodline Blockage Removed." "Locked Veins Awakened." "Core Access Pathways Cleared." "Primordial Blood Channels Reactivated."
His body pulsed with the weight of these messages, like gates inside him had been torn open. Blockages—chains— had been shattered inside him. He felt it viscerally: energy surging through once-dormant parts of his soul, as though his blood had been rewritten.
Then, in a swirl of crimson fog, a blackened glyph appeared before him, glowing softly:
[NIGHTMARE SIGIL: Blood and Nightmares]
The interface unfurled like a scroll of flesh and fire, revealing rows of ominous details:
---
[Name]: Oliver Rich
[Specie]: Human >for now!.. laughs evilly.
[Title]: Slave of the Seal | Heir of Vengeance
[Bloodline]: Blood of Asmodeus (Demon Deity – Grade: ???)
Bloodline Class: Deity (Extinct)
Bloodline Purity: 100%
Status: Bloodline Integration (7%)
Blood Rank: Blood Initiate
Core Stats
(Ranked from E - SSS)
Strength: E
Aether: D
Speed: E+ (Slightly heightened due to awakening)
Mental Edurance: A
Perception: D (Tied to growing connection with nightmare realm)
Aether Sensitivity: A
Contract Holder(s):
Accra the Fallen Duke
Contract Rank(s): A
(Contract Requirements)
*Present S rank Contract Within a year*
Status: Bound (unfulfilled)
Contract Gift: Access to demon knowledge, can request minor aid.
Price: (Accra is Frustrated) Dreams invaded with whispers of ancient rage
Contracts Held: 1/10 Contract
Bloodline Abilities (Locked/Partially Unlocked):
Blood Absorption [Passive]: Converts absorbed blood into energy. [Level 1]
Nightmare Veil [Active]:
Temporarily shroud in illusionary red mist. [Locked]
Nightmare Gifter: Gift people Nightmares. Damaged incurred by Nightmare affects person physically, and can sometimes lead to death.
Thirst of Vengeance [Passive]: Stat boost in presence of emotional rage. [Dormant]
Blood Sense [Passive]: Can faintly detect hostile intent through blood resonance.
Dream Trial Adaptation [Unique]: Gain XP and new abilities after every successful blood trial during sleep.
Special Conditions:
Must sleep 8 hours daily (Nightmare Trials Compulsory)
Trials influence strength growth post-dungeon raids
Hidden evolution paths detected...
Penalty: (???) >Trust me, you don't want to know.
---
Oliver blinked, his throat felt dry. His heart—if it even beat in this dream—was thudding loudly in disbelief.
'A Deity Bloodline?'
>That's the least of your problems, but okay.
He'd heard and read stories—no, myths. Bloodlines in the world were ranked by purity and tier. Commoner, Noble, and Royal were the recognized types.
The achievements of a person's ancestor was the most prominent reason for their Bloodline quality. And Bloodline quality was incredibly difficult to improve, expecially in this world where Aether was dying out.
Those with noble blood could absorb more experience points from dungeon battles. Royals even more. But a Deity bloodline? That was a myth from the Old Scrolls. Said to have disappeared thousands of years ago.
And now... it was in him.
> "Oh, you'll be very popular... if you survive." the voice chuckled again.
'Wait survived?'
Then he heard it.
A voice. Soft. Pained. Calling his name.
"Oliver..."
He turned toward the sound, and light split the dream realm.
He rushed toward it, toward the waking world...
When he opened his eyes, the world returned to him in pieces. He was in his sister's arms, her warmth trembling, her voice whispering his name as if in prayer.
They were in a caged wagon, the bars cold and rusted, creaking with every bump. The sky above them was a flat sheet of grey, offering no comfort. The carriage wheels groaned over rough terrain, splashing through puddles of blood-tainted mud.
Within the cage, huddled bodies surrounded them—survivors of the massacre. Princes and princesses, and nobles of both high and minor houses. Servants. Even commoners. Some bore cracked crowns, others bleeding bandages. One young man, about the age of Leston, whispered prayers to an unknown god at the corner of the cage.
Coughs echoed. A child whimpered. The stench of fear and iron filled the air.
Outside, mounted soldiers of the Somaran Empire rode on scaled beasts with long tails and armored hides. Their banners waved with arrogance, their laughter like gravel in Oliver's ears.
He blinked, confused, and turned to Velma. "What... what's going on?"
But she couldn't speak at first. Instead, Velma crushed him into her chest, tears flooding her face.
"You're awake... Oh gods, you're awake. I thought— I thought I lost you. You've been asleep for days."
He waited until her grip loosened, then asked again, more calmly this time.
Velma wiped her eyes and looked into his, her voice gentle, steadying herself. "Oliver, don't be scared. There's a lot you won't believe. But listen closely."
She took a deep breath.
"Tyrell... it's gone. The kingdom fell to the Somaran Empire. The capital was surrounded, and no reinforcements came. Our father... he's missing. No one knows what happened to him. Many of our siblings were killed. There was no mercy."
Her voice cracked. "We're prisoners of war now. They're trafficking us back to Somaran lands."
Oliver looked around again.
Velma was surprised. He didn't seem shocked. Instead, he gently took her hand.
"Are you okay? Did Sir Bolton hurt you?"
Velma flinched slightly. "I... I don't know. I can't remember. Everything's blurry. I remember fighting, then pain. But when I woke up, he was just... dead. Lying there. And you were cold, not breathing. I thought you were gone."
Suddenly, Oliver's vision twisted. A memory surged—
Sir Bolton, inside the blood realm.
Ropes of blood had wrapped around his limbs and yanked him apart with a terrifying snap. His screams echoed across the realm before he was consumed by red mist.
He had died in a bloody nightmare of Oliver's feelings of revenge. Yet Oliver had no recollection of ever being in control of that state.
It was as if the Asmodeus bloodline had a terrifying will of its own. Then again, considering the sarcastic remarks from it, it obviously was more than what met the eyes.
Oliver groaned, grabbing his head. Pain surged through his skull.
A soldier nearby banged the cage with his boot. "Shut it pigs! No noise!"
The cage rattled. Oliver exhaled slowly and leaned back.
He knew what this meant. They were crossing the Southern Great Sea. He could see it now on the horizon—the gleam of water and chained ships waiting to ferry them.
They were heading to the continent the Somaran Empire.
Even with the alchemist's seal and the bloodline of Asmodeus burning inside him, the dread remained.
But there was more. Just above his vision, only visible to him, floated a faint red timer:
Next Night Trial Begins In: 07:59:48