Blackblood

The ground shook in horror under the weight of the C-4 detonation. The house above it hung on for dear life, barely standing. Everything above the coffee table in the living room was effectively gone. The ceiling was now a gaping hole, furniture from above replacing what had been below. Mia molded the explosive to perfection, given the minuscule amount she worked with.

Tim’s entire torso was gone, vaporized from the waist up. Bits and pieces of his flesh were strewn all over the charred floor. But when the dust settled, those pieces were gone, fading to nonexistence.

A flurry of flesh emerged from his bisected stump with a vengeance. His spine jutted out like a spike, ribcage embracing the new organs within. Blood vessels weaved in and out as sinew sewn tight. In a single breath, his physical being was remade whole once more. Every fiber of his flesh. Each strand of hair. Every piece of cloth wrapping his skin—the being who held the title of Mortis returned to his cage of meat, denied the sweet release of death.

But the luxury of cheating death did not belong to him alone.

With his sight restored, a pavise of stone and dirt now stood where Lynn last sat, singed and cracked. Faced with this magic-infused wall, he did not hesitate. His knuckles pierced through the embankment, shattering through several layers of ore to hit the soft flesh hiding within. But it was hollow. Surprise became shock as a sword plunged through his heart from his back.

Emerging from the ground behind him, Lynn twisted her blade, the Regalia expanding into its original size as a greatsword. The force of the strike sent his feet dangling in the air. His free arm flung backward, backhand scraping nothing but her hair as she slid back without her sword.

All he could do was watch as darkness crept into the corners of his vision. One arm stuck in stone. A hunk of steel impaling his chest. Try as he might, his knees could not budge. Her sword was impossibly heavy, as if gravity itself trampled him with its foot.

“It’s over,” Lynn commented. “You’ve gotten old.”

With blood streaming out of his lips, Tim found the strength to smile, agreeing with her. “Yeah, takes a while to warm up.”

Lynn instinctively covered her nose with her hand as a putrid stench crept its way in. Smoke rose from Tim’s blood. The fluid glowed, shedding its red layer and revealing a sludge of pure black. The revolting substance ate through her sword like acid, the blade and its hilt falling to the floor in complete silence. Not even sound could escape the black liquid’s touch.

As he pulled his restrained hand out of the stone, Lynn scanned the room out of desperation. Her eyes darted around in search of his daughter. In search of leverage. But she found nothing.

Tim took his sweet time. It’s been a while since he last went into his Blackblood state, the sensation tickling his brain from within. It was a different kind of high. The feeling of absolute invincibility made him feel like he was floating. He was drunk, not from alcohol, but power.

Biting his thumb, the sludge ran down his skin he tucked it underneath the rest of his fingers. A dark glow emanated from his clenched fist as if light itself tried to flee in sheer terror. But any attempt to escape was futile, reality warping around his grip, as if he shook the hand of god.

And god's hand bled black.

Lynn went on the defensive, palm slamming the ground between her feet. But before she could conjure another wall, she pulled her hand away out of pure reflex. Any slower and there would be a hole in her hand instead of the floor.

Smoke rose from the barrel of Tim’s revolver, quick-drawn from his hip and fired in a flash. The recoil from Lonely Lucifer snapped his wrist, his hand dangling at an unnatural angle before returning to normal. Lynn’s tongue clicked, disgusted by the appearance of the inferior weapon. His right hand was already loathsome enough; the gun in his left added insult to injury.

Leisurely, he stepped toward her. Slow. Unbothered. Like a predator that chose not to give chase, for he knew his prey couldn’t escape. But even with a gun pointed right at her and the personification of death approaching, she waited. Sweat seeping into her unblinking eyes, ready to react at a moment’s notice.

Two more rounds sliced through the air, destroying the shooter’s wrist while striking both her kneecaps. The projectiles tore through the fabric above her knee, only to be lodged in a layer of stonelike skin. Still, the impact was far stronger than she expected. Her legs buckled, aching with pain as if a sledgehammer had slammed into them.

The oversized pistol looked like any other primitive Pitstop tool. Its bullets, however, were not. Dispensing .577 Tyrannosaur rounds with extreme prejudice, no human could handle the recoil. The only partner for Lonely Lucifer was Tim's regeneration, a match made in heaven.

By the time she regained her balance, she was face-to-face with his right hand. Face-to-face with a feeling of dread she had not felt in her entire life. Dermal rock encased her head as her survival instincts screamed. Her senses, honed impossibly sharp, allowed her to avoid a direct hit, narrowly weaving the punch.

But he didn’t need to hit her.

His hand exploded. Bone turned to shrapnel. Blood into acid. The force of the blast ruptured his entire right arm, sending Lynn flying as the entire front wall of the house crumbled. But that was when Tim realized; he didn’t just destroy the wall, he destroyed multiple layers of earth behind it.

Lynn had enveloped the building within a veritable mountain.

“I’m not stuck here with you,” she warned. “You’re stuck here with me.”

She got back up on her feet, half of her face melting, devoured by Blackblood. Her necrotizing flesh peeled off, falling to the floor together with the black sludge. The whites of her skull and teeth were visible. Smiling even.

From inside a pouch on her belt, she took out a syringe of sorts. Tim heard his heart sink, instantly recognizing the liquid within.

Blackblood.

Jabbing it into her neck, Tim’s blood-turned-antidote stimulated her body’s natural healing factor. Muscle and tissue regrew at an inconceivable speed. Witnessing his own regeneration plundered and weaponized against him sickened him to his core.

“I see Vita finished her research. Even in death, she’s still a pain in the ass,” he cursed under his breath as his arm regenerated.

Feeling as good as new, she cracked her reformed neck. And yet, the satisfying sensation of rejuvenated skin was nothing compared to the joy she felt from seeing his reaction. The overwhelming feeling of countering his every move was intoxicating.

Tim’s teeth gnashed against each other. Fights between Immortals were not fights to the death. They were more akin to a chess match. Both sides aimed to capture, not kill. Killing was easy. Winning was not.

It didn't help that his opponent was his natural counter. Not some Exiled assassin, but a true master at the game, proving far more complicated than he first envisioned. With his regeneration in hand, Lynn’s strength bordered on that of the Council members.

And like most of the bouts with his former colleagues, this was shaping up to be a stalemate.

“I’m giving you a second chance. Accept the offer, and we can put this behind us.”

“I think you’ll run out of syringes first.”

“And then what? I’ll just roll over and die?” Lynn taunted. “Behold. True Immortality.”

Her skin radiated a blue light. Traces of magic in the room ebbed and flowed, manifesting an intricate pattern behind her. Outlines. Details. It was as if her mind was painting with magic, the air around her her canvas. And as the last stroke was made, the insignia of her family crystallized into thin air.

“I am Terilynn, the Shield of House Veranos. And as long as I bear this Noble Crest, I. Am. Eternal.”

Her voice echoed throughout the room, the air vibrating, bowing down in respect of her authority. Disbelief stained itself onto Tim’s face.

“Y-You’re—”

“That’s right. Even though my feet are not on kingdom soil, the king’s immortality flows through my veins.”

But the look of confusion on Tim faded, replaced with a smile. Then laughter.

“Has your feeble Exiled mind finally grasped the difference between us?” Lynn asked.

“That’s right. Thanks for showing me that difference.” Taking a deep breath, he yelled. “MIA!”

The crest vanished. Lynn readied herself, her instincts warning her of an ambush. Her eyes surveyed the room. The hole in the ceiling. The earthen barrier behind her. Looking for any sign of the traitor’s daughter. But there was none.

Seconds passed. Absolutely zero movement. Even her foe stood motionless, mocking her with his smirk. Where the hell was that girl?

She only found the answer when she saw dozens of holes in Tim’s chest.

Shotgun in hand, Mia unleashed hell. Buckshot after buckshot, pellets pierced through her Dad, hitting Lynn like a truck. Even with her stoneskin, the combined force of the pellets pushed her back, causing her to stumble. All the while, Tim approached her, a literal human shield for his daughter.

In desperation, Lynn hammered the mound behind her with her elbow, the seismic shock sending earthen spikes from the floor to her enemies. They skewered Tim from all sides, but this sight offered her no comfort. Only fear. Because behind him, Mia was in the air, the sides of the spikes reduced to mere footholds for her.

The little girl didn’t bother reloading her shotgun, throwing it like a discus toward Lynn. Swatting the makeshift projectile away, the Immortal was immediately greeted by a hail of bullets from an assault rifle. How many weapons did this child have?! Lynn coughed blood, the concentrated fire on her center mass no different from being pummeled by a piledriver.

She struggled to keep track of the daughter’s speed. Her mind reasoned there was magic at play, but her senses said otherwise. In the brief instances when their eyes made contact, Lynn could not believe what she saw. There was nothing behind the little girl’s pupils. No emotion. Nothing. As if she were doing a chore. Cleaning. Lynn felt like she was nothing more than trash being taken out. Combined with the pain and the rattling from the gunfire, the unfeeling killer in her vision blurred. All of this compounded into a costly mistake.

A geyser of Blackblood erupted from Tim’s mouth, searing away her protective skin and eating the flesh inside. Being impaled proved to be a convenience for him. And as his enemy writhed in pain, he called out. “Do it, Mia!”

Lynn clawed her way into her pouch, frantically reaching for a syringe. She raced to thrust the needle into her neck, only for her vision to come across two grenades that seemed to grow larger as they approached.

“Curse you!”

Point-blank detonation. Everything caught in its radius ceased to exist.

By the time the dust settled, Tim stood triumphant without so much as a scratch. He looked around. No sign of Lynn. Only her gore and viscera, painted all over the floor and the walls. Cleaning this mess would take ages. But for now, a sigh of relief escaped his lips.

“Mia, we did it. It’s ov—”

Out of nowhere, a vice clamped down on his neck. A hand formed out of thin air, choking him, lifting him off his feet. That hand grew an arm. Then a body. Then a person. From a single cell, Lynn had fully regenerated.

As her earth-shattering strength squeezed the consciousness out of Tim, her eyes swept the room for Mia, the only unknown variable left. With the father out of her way, she was certain of her victory. So certain in fact, she started to laugh.

“Checkmate, Mortis.”

Even when strangled, Tim joined in her laughter. And even when she stopped, he continued. His pained croaks twisted and warped. Seeing him wear this expression till the very end brought her no joy. She wanted to see him suffer. To see that same look of helplessness as before. Not this deranged lunacy.

Lynn felt her grip around his neck loosen. Bewilderment scrunched her face as his laughter grew clearer and clearer, as if nothing was choking him at all. This was in spite of her muscles being as taut as they could be.

Her eyes and her ears showed her two different realities. When they finally merged, the laughter’s pitch grew. His flesh began to distort, fracturing like glass. And from those shattered pieces formed the truth.

She had been choking the daughter all along.

“Checkmate,” whispered the real Tim beside her.

Her hand swung at him, phasing through him entirely. It was like hitting water. In truth, Tim was not even close to her. Disoriented, she felt Mia slipping away from her grasp.

“You’re just playing a simple trick. We’re back to square one!” Lynn insisted.

“Really?” Tim asked. “You don’t look too good.”

“I feel better than ever! I feel—”

Lynn fell to the floor, her vision robbed of light as her consciousness eluded her. She had prepared countermeasures for every toxin his Blackblood was known for. And yet she missed his most recent one.

Alcohol.