Kiss of the Vampire
" The Void "
Mission 1 : Mc vs Mc
The storm had quieted, but only for a breath.
The battlefield still burned—rivers of molten ice, the air reeking of charred flesh. The Sin Zombies that hadn't been vaporized writhed in the distance, limbs twitching as they dragged what was left of themselves through the ash.
Ben stood among the ruins, his armor cracked and soaked in blood, his chest heaving with disbelief. Around him, the surviving Black Knights stared upward, watching the glowing figure descend from the crimson clouds.
The golden-haired man landed first, boots crushing a skull beneath him. Steam hissed from his metal prosthetic arm as it shifted back from cannon mode, vents releasing bursts of pale light. His expression was calm, eyes cold but alive—the eyes of someone who had seen far too many wars.
The red-haired man with the massive minigun swung the weapon over his shoulder and smirked, the barrels still smoking. "Looks like we made it just in time, huh?" he said, voice gravelly but laced with relief. "You people really know how to throw a party."
The white-haired man landed last, his weapon—Jawbreaker—folding into its dormant form as he straightened. His gaze swept the battlefield, then rested on Deyviel.
For a moment, no one spoke.
Deyviel stood in the middle of it all, half-covered in blood, half in shadow. The crimson veins across his face pulsed faintly, the last traces of that twisted aura flickering out. The Yamato in his hand was still vibrating, whispering with residual energy. He looked at the three newcomers warily, every muscle tense.
"…Who the hell are you?" Deyviel muttered, his voice hoarse but steady. "You're not from this world."
The golden-haired man smiled faintly, stepping forward. "You're right about that." He stopped a few paces away, studying Deyviel as if confirming something. "But we came here because of you."
Ben stiffened. "What do you mean by that?"
Before the man could answer, the ground trembled again. From the far end of the field, the Sin Series stirred—their silhouettes still visible beyond the haze. Lancer stood tall, his Pride aura still burning like a sun of blood.
"They're not done yet," the red-haired man said, spinning his weapon and planting it into the snow. "You can explain later, brother. For now, we finish this."
Deyviel glanced at him sharply. "Brother?"
The golden-haired man's expression softened for the briefest moment. "Not by blood," he said quietly. "But by purpose."
The Sin horde screamed again.
Ben stepped forward, raising his greatsword beside the newcomers. "I don't know who you are," he said, his voice rough but commanding, "but if you're here to fight—then welcome to the line."
The red-haired man grinned. "Heh. Wouldn't have it any other way."
The white-haired one drew Jawbreaker again, steam rising from its vents. "Just keep up."
The air snapped.
Lancer raised his blade, his voice echoing across the field. "Then come, pretenders. Let's see if you can survive the wrath of Pride."
The world erupted again.
Plasma fire streaked the air. Sword and magic collided. Deyviel leapt back into the fray beside the three strangers, his Yamato clashing against Lancer's blood blade, sparks dancing in the frozen night.
Ben's heart pounded as he watched them move—coordinated, lethal, otherworldly. The golden-haired man fought like a storm; every swing of his prosthetic arm sent shockwaves that shattered the ground. The red-haired one turned his gun into a blur of lead and fire, his laughter booming through the chaos. The white-haired one moved like a ghost—vanishing between blows, reappearing where the enemy least expected.
For the first time in hours, the Black Knights could breathe.
Yumi stared at them through the haze, her healing magic dim but steady. "Who… are they?"
Ben exhaled slowly, lowering his sword for just a moment. "Doesn't matter right now," he said, eyes narrowing toward the flames. "Whoever they are—they just gave us another chance."
And as the sky turned red again, Deyviel's voice rose above the clash.
"Then let's make it count!"
The battlefield roared back to life. The Sin horde howled, waves of rotting flesh crashing toward the surviving Knights. Amid the chaos, the three newcomers stood shoulder to shoulder with Deyviel—steel, fire, and pure defiance forged into one line of resistance.
The red-haired man cracked his neck, rolling his shoulders with a grin. "Alright then," he said, patting the strange silver device strapped to his waist. "Guess it's time to stop holding back."
He twisted the dial.
"Henshin."
A surge of crimson light erupted from the belt, circuits igniting like wildfire. Mechanical plates unfolded in an instant, wrapping around him with the sound of shifting armor and snapping gears. Energy coursed through the seams, forming sleek red and silver plating, and when the glow faded—he stood transformed.
Masked Rider Kabuto.
The armor gleamed under the flickering fires, its horn-shaped crest slicing through the smoke. The red glow in his visor pulsed once, and he raised a hand. "Rider Kick time."
He blurred. In a single instant, he vanished—then reappeared in the heart of the horde, his heel slamming into a Sin Zombie's chest. The impact detonated like a cannon, vaporizing a dozen undead in one blinding explosion. The shockwave tore a trench through the battlefield, scattering corpses like leaves in a storm.
The white-haired man blinked, then laughed over the comm crackle. "Man, a real-deal Masked Rider? That's cheating!"
He sliced clean through a towering Sin Giant, his blade humming with stored energy. Blood mist sprayed across his face, but he only smirked. "Fine, if we're cheating—then I've got my own card to play."
He lifted his prosthetic arm, the metal shifting with a low hum as mechanisms clicked into place. Runes glowed along its length.
"Mod—Gerbera!"
The transformation sequence roared to life. The arm unfolded, expanding into a sleek cannon, vents flaring with violet light. The air vibrated from the sheer charge gathering at its core.
System: Jawbreaker—Gerbera Mode / Cannon Mode—complete.
A mechanical voice echoed, followed by a deep ding. The weapon's energy condensed, swirling like a miniature star.
"Let's even the odds!" the white-haired man shouted. He raised his arm and fired.
A torrent of violet plasma blasted forth, sweeping the horizon. Thousands of Sin Zombies disintegrated in an instant—burned to ash, their shrieks drowned in the thunder of the beam. The ground split open, molten cracks glowing beneath their feet. The very snow turned to steam.
Deyviel shielded his face from the wave of energy, his coat whipping in the wind. "You guys… are insane," he muttered—but there was a spark in his eyes, a fire that hadn't been there before. "Fine then."
He dropped Yamato into a reverse grip and extended his left arm. Blue mana surged, spiraling from his shoulder down to his fingertips. The air shook.
A massive, translucent dragon arm erupted into being—scales shimmering with ethereal light, claws the size of blades. The spectral limb coiled once, like a living extension of him, before launching forward.
"Hero Arm—Dragon Manifest!" he roared.
The giant arm slammed into the ground, the shockwave flattening everything in its path. Sin Zombies, Giants, and twisted beasts alike were obliterated under the impact, crushed into craters. The wave that followed blew apart the rest—hundreds dead in a single strike.
When the smoke cleared, Deyviel stood panting, his breath fogging in the cold air. The dragon arm slowly faded, leaving behind trails of glowing light.
The Masked Rider landed beside him, armor steaming. "Heh. Not bad, kid. Not bad at all."
The white-haired man, smoke still rising from his cannon arm, gave a lazy thumbs-up. "Hell of a swing."
Deyviel smirked faintly, blood still running down his chin. "Guess I'm learning from the best."
Ben, still standing a few meters back, couldn't help but laugh despite the chaos. For the first time in hours, the battlefield didn't sound like a funeral—it sounded like hope.
Lancer snarled from the distance, his pride-stained armor cracked and his aura flaring violently. "You think this changes anything?!" he roared. "You're still insects beneath gods!"
Deyviel raised Yamato and pointed it at him, blue light burning in his eyes. "Then let's see how gods handle extinction."
The red-haired Rider clicked his belt again. "Clock Up."
Time slowed.
The white-haired man charged his cannon once more, violet light flooding the dark. Deyviel's dragon arm began to reform, glowing brighter than before.
And the three of them—one from another world, one from a broken one, and one caught between light and shadow—launched themselves toward the Sin Series.
The final battle for the Crimson Palace had begun.
The ground shook as another wave of sin zombies charged in, their screams echoing through the ruined streets. Deyviel sliced one down the middle, its body dissolving into black mist.
From the corner of his eye, he saw the two newcomers cutting through the horde like it was nothing—one wielding a cannon arm that blasted violet energy, the other moving at blinding speed in crimson armor.
When the chaos slowed for a moment, the three ended up standing in a loose triangle, breathing hard amid piles of corpses.
The white-haired man lowered his cannon and looked at Deyviel with a small grin. "Name's Rolien Edric Grey. You?"
Before Deyviel could answer, the red-haired rider stepped forward, his armor fading in a burst of light until only his human form remained. "Kieth Deyviel Martin."
The sound of that name froze Deyviel in place.
His eyes widened. His grip on his sword tightened until the metal groaned.
"…What did you just say?"
Kieth blinked, confused. "My name. Kieth Deyviel—"
Before he could finish, Deyviel's aura spiked. Blue flame erupted around him, twisting with shadow. His pupils slit like a beast's.
"Don't you dare use that name," he growled, voice layered with something darker, colder.
Kieth took a step back, sensing the sudden killing intent. "What the hell's your problem?"
Deyviel's head tilted, his expression twisting into a sinister smirk. The tone of his voice changed—lower, venomous. "You're a fake."
Rolien frowned. "Oi, Deyviel, calm—"
Too late.
Blue lightning exploded from Deyviel's body, cracking the ground beneath him. In an instant, he appeared in front of Kieth, blade already swinging.
"I'm the real Deyviel Kieth Martin!" he roared.
Kieth barely had time to block, summoning his belt in reflex. Henshin!
Metal slammed shut around him as Deyviel's strike collided with his armored forearm. The impact sent a shockwave through the ruins, scattering dust and corpses.
Rolien cursed under his breath. "You've gotta be kidding me…" He charged forward, cannon arm humming, trying to separate the two before they tore each other apart.
The ground split beneath their clash—blue flames against red lightning—while Rolien shouted over the roar of power,
"Oi! Save the introductions for after we survive this!"
But Deyviel wasn't listening anymore. His corrupted side had taken full control—and it was out for blood.
The city was shaking under the force of their clash. Deyviel's blue flames wrapped around his body like living chains, while Kieth—still in his Kabuto armor—met every strike with steel and speed.
Blades screeched, fists collided, and shockwaves shattered the already crumbling streets.
"Clock Up!"
Kieth's form blurred. Time slowed. He zipped behind Deyviel and landed a powerful kick to his side.
CRACK!
Deyviel flew through a broken wall, debris scattering. But before Kieth could breathe, Deyviel emerged again in a blur of blue light, eyes glowing with madness.
He grabbed Kieth by the chestplate and hurled him straight into the ground, creating a crater.
"You dare steal my name!" he roared, his voice distorted with demonic undertones. "There's only one Deyviel Kieth Martin—and that's me!"
Kieth coughed, sparks flickering off his armor. "You're insane!"
Before either could go for another strike—
"Enough!" Rolien shouted, leaping between them. His cannon arm shifted back into its gauntlet form as he raised both hands. "You two are gonna level the whole damn city!"
Deyviel lunged again, blade arcing toward Kieth—but Rolien caught the strike mid-swing with his bare hand, the impact sending a blast of wind around them. "I said enough!"
For a moment, it worked. Both froze. But then, Kieth and Deyviel reacted at the same time—one aiming a punch, the other a fiery backhand.
Both hits connected.
Right on Rolien.
The explosion launched him backward through the remains of a wall, his body skidding across the cracked road. Dust rose, and for a second, it seemed like he was down—until the smoke began to glow faintly silver.
"…Damn it," Rolien muttered, pushing himself up. "Guess I'll stop you both the hard way."
The air rippled. Silver light crawled up his arms and chest like veins of molten steel. His eyes gleamed with faint white energy as spiritual wisps swirled around him.
"Hollowveil Forge—Activate!"
A faint metallic hum filled the air as ghostly armor formed around his body, segments forged from his very spirit. His aura burst outward, mixing heat with a strange chill that cut through the battlefield.
Deyviel's eyes narrowed as he sensed it. "Spirit energy…? You're a Ki user too?"
Rolien smirked, flexing his glowing fists. "Ki, soul, whatever you wanna call it—doesn't matter. What matters is…" He stomped forward, the ground cracking beneath his step. "You both need to cool off."
He vanished.
In a blink, he appeared between them—his first punch slamming into Deyviel's ribs, the second into Kieth's chestplate. The impact threw both men back in opposite directions.
Kieth skidded, armor sparking. "He's fast!"
Deyviel wiped blood from his lip, his smile returning—wild and sharp. "Not bad, Rolien Edric Grey."
Rolien rolled his shoulder, spirit energy flickering like embers. "Yeah, yeah. Now stop hitting each other before I hit harder."
But Deyviel's grin only widened. "Then let's test that."
His blue flames flared again, and Rolien braced himself, realizing that this wasn't just rage anymore—
something darker was moving inside Deyviel.
The wind howled through the shattered ruins, carrying a metallic stench that burned their throats. Kieth and Rolien stood side by side, both breathing heavily, watching as Deyviel twitched and spasmed—his aura flickering between red and black.
Then, a sharp ding echoed in their ears.
[SYSTEM WARNING]
Detected: High concentration of Abyssal Miasma.
Source — Outer God contamination.
Immediate exposure may cause corruption of soul or loss of self.
Rolien's eyes widened. "Miasma…? Wait—"
Another alert flashed in front of him, his HUD flickering with static.
[WARNING]
Subject: Deyviel
Status — [Mark of the Abyss: GREED] Reactivated.
Corruption level: 73% … increasing rapidly.
Rolien's gut turned cold. He looked back at Deyviel, who had fallen to one knee, clutching his chest. Black smoke poured from his mouth with each breath. The symbol on his collarbone—an eye encased in a ring of runes—glowed like burning coal.
Kieth stepped forward cautiously, Kabuto armor humming with power. "Hey, kid, you good—?"
Deyviel's head snapped up. His eyes were no longer gold. They were pits of void.
"You… stole… my name…"
Kieth barely had time to react before Deyviel lunged. His clawed hand slammed into Kieth's chestplate, sending him crashing through a wall. Sparks exploded from the impact.
"Kieth!" Rolien shouted, racing after him—but another ding stopped him in his tracks.
[System Analysis: Cause Identified]
Outer God miasma amplifying Mark resonance.
Result — Loss of host consciousness.
Recommendation: Purge field or neutralize Mark bearer.
Rolien clenched his fists, his expression hardening. "So that's it… this air—it's feeding him."
Deyviel staggered forward, laughter bubbling out, warped and distorted. "Feed me more… MORE! Give me everything!"
His aura exploded outward. Blue and crimson flames intertwined, twisting into a storm of raw power. The snow around them vaporized instantly.
Kieth crawled from the rubble, armor sparking. "That's not him anymore!"
Rolien's eyes sharpened. "No. But I can't kill him either."
He slammed his fist together, activating his Hollowveil Forge. Silver light wrapped around his body, etching spectral veins across his arms and neck. His spirit energy surged like a living flame, reshaping the gauntlets on his hands.
"Spirit Override—Level 2!"
A shimmering aura erupted around him, silver with faint hints of blue. The ground cracked under the weight of his spirit.
Kieth stood, cracking his neck. "Guess it's our turn then." He pressed his belt—
"Clock Up!"
Time slowed. Kieth blurred, his movement a streak of red and gold, slamming his boot into Deyviel's ribs. The hit landed—then Deyviel caught his leg mid-kick.
"Ki-user too, huh…" Deyviel rasped, voice layered with static and venom. His grin was wild, monstrous. "Let's see whose soul burns faster."
He hurled Kieth away and turned on Rolien.
Rolien's aura flared. "Deyviel, listen to me! That mark's not you—it's—"
Too late. Deyviel lunged, his corrupted dragon arm slicing through the air. Rolien blocked with both arms, the impact detonating a shockwave that shattered nearby ruins.
Kieth zipped back in, slashing across Deyviel's flank. The corrupted boy didn't even flinch.
The system flickered again:
[Corruption Level: 89%]
Host consciousness — unstable. Imminent full takeover.
Rolien grit his teeth. "Damn it… the miasma's winning."
Deyviel roared, a sound that wasn't human anymore. The mark on his chest split open, black tendrils erupting outward. His entire right arm morphed into a monstrous dragon limb of darkness and fire, runes crawling across its scales.
Rolien's spirit flared silver, Kieth's armor glowed crimson—and both charged at once.
The three collided in an explosion of energy that tore the ground apart.
To be continue