Descending into the depths of the 33rd floor, Michael and Valencia moved through an eerie silence. The air grew colder, thick with a strange metallic tang that seemed to cling to their senses. Every step echoed across the smooth stone floor, and the shadows danced around them as though alive, twisting in the faint torchlight.
Michael glanced at Valencia, noticing the tension radiating from her. She moved gracefully, her black wings trailing faint crimson patterns, but there was an edge to her every movement. Her crimson eyes, though calm, hinted at a simmering hunger—a restlessness that seemed to surface more frequently as they descended deeper into the dungeon.
The room they entered was vast and circular, with high ceilings shrouded in shadows. In the center, an imposing figure awaited them—a tall, almost skeletal being with skin so pale it seemed translucent, revealing veins of dark blue and purple that pulsed faintly. Its hollow eyes stared at them with a strange, knowing weariness.
Valencia's gaze narrowed as her eyes swept over the creature. "There's something off about this one, Michael… its blood feels familiar but… different."
The creature's lip curled, revealing jagged, pointed teeth in a dark smile. "Ah… a progenitor, blessed by the crimson's gift." Its hollow voice echoed, filled with an unsettling resonance. "How curious. It seems another progenitor has wandered into my domain."
Michael's grip tightened on his coilgun, and he raised it, his body tensing. "And what exactly are you?"
"I am the first of the Tarlok," it replied, its gaze flicking dismissively to him before settling on Valencia. "Born of blood, but not like yours… though I sense a similar hunger. I am a progenitor of my kind, the beginning of the blood-bound Tarlok race."
Valencia's eyes narrowed, her muscles taut as she assessed the creature. "You may have the title of a progenitor, but your blood feels like sludge—impure and weak. Whatever power you may think you have, it ends here."
The Tarlok's face twisted, and with a sudden, fluid movement, it raised a clawed hand. Blood pooled out of thin air around its fingers, twisting into serrated whips that lashed out. Valencia moved instantly, forming her own blood tendrils to intercept the attack, their strikes meeting in a shower of crimson droplets that scattered across the floor.
Michael took flight, his gray wings propelling him above the chaos. He angled his coilgun toward the Tarlok, taking a split second to aim before firing. The metallic projectile cut through the air, impacting the creature's shoulder. Dark tendrils spread from the wound, unfurling from the coilgun's enchanted metal and latching onto the Tarlok with barbed, hooked appendages that dug deep into its flesh.
The creature snarled, clawing at the tendrils, but they burrowed in, tightening with each attempt to wrench them free. The coilgun absorbed energy through the tendrils, drawing on the creature's life force to feed itself. The siphoning effect caused the Tarlok's already pale skin to take on a sickly, sunken hue as Michael prepared another shot.
In retaliation, the Tarlok summoned more blood, shaping it into orbs of fire and icy shards, which it launched toward Michael. His cracked gray halo flared, activating his defensive spell as the orbs of light surrounded him, intercepting each projectile midair. Each impact sent a ripple of energy through the air, and the spells dissolved harmlessly before they could touch him.
The Tarlok's gaze darkened as it watched Michael hover just beyond reach. "A glorified pigeon wielding weapons against a blood-bearer…" It spat, venom lacing its tone. "How unnatural."
Michael's response was another precise shot, aimed at the creature's other shoulder. The dark tendrils erupted from the coilgun's impact point, piercing deeper and further immobilizing the creature's arms. Below, Valencia pressed her assault, her blood manipulation coiling around the Tarlok's ankles and rooting it in place. Her eyes glowed with a dangerous light as she called out, "Michael, now!"
Michael fired another series of shots, each one sinking into the Tarlok's chest. The tendrils pulsed as they continued to siphon energy, tightening and burrowing deeper, latching onto bone and sinew. The Tarlok let out a feral cry, struggling to pull itself free, but the barbs anchored it firmly, each attempt only serving to sink them in further.
As the creature grew weaker, its gaze fell to Valencia, its mouth twisting into a smirk. "You, progenitor, have no idea the curse of what you carry. The blood that sustains you will bind you… until it consumes everything. I see the hunger in your eyes—it is only a matter of time."
Valencia flinched, her expression hardening as she tightened her grip on her blood whips. "Don't waste your breath. Your blood may have given you power, but it's nothing compared to mine."
The Tarlok cackled, even as it sagged, the life force draining rapidly from its body. "I see… I am the last of my kind, and you will be… chained by your thirst. What a twisted fate, one blessed by the crimson."
Ignoring the creature's taunts, Michael fired another shot, letting the coilgun's tendrils sink into the Tarlok's chest until it let out a final, gurgling cry. It slumped to the ground, its body collapsing into a pile of ash, leaving only the faint scent of ancient blood in the air.
As the silence settled, Michael landed beside Valencia, who remained tense, her breathing shallow. Her fangs were visible, and her gaze was fixed on the bloodstains on the floor with a fevered, almost obsessive intensity. Michael noticed a slight tremor in her hands as she clenched her fists.
"Valencia…" he murmured, stepping closer.
She snapped her gaze up to him, her eyes bright with barely restrained hunger. Her voice was soft, but strained. "Michael… I… I can't… control it right now." Her gaze flicked to his neck, and she took a step back, her wings folding in tight as if she were trying to distance herself from the temptation.
Without a word, Michael turned his neck to the side, understanding the struggle raging within her. Her crimson eyes widened with desperation, and she reached for his arm, her grip firm but almost hesitant. She dragged him into her embrace, wrapping her dark wings around him, the bones in their wings rubbing against each other through the thin mixture of feather and flesh. She sank her fangs into his skin, her body visibly relaxing as she drank. Michael could feel the intensity of her need, the possessive way she clung to him, as if the very act of feeding was reaffirming her bond to him.
When she finally released him, her gaze was softer, but still held a trace of the hunger that lingered beneath the surface. She looked up at him, her voice barely above a whisper. "I… I'm sorry, Michael. It's… getting harder to control."
He offered her a reassuring smile, though he couldn't ignore the gravity of her words. "It's okay, Valencia. We'll handle it, together."
Valencia nodded, though her expression was still clouded with worry. She knew that this dependency would only deepen, and each floor seemed to test her willpower. But even as her yandere tendencies intensified, Michael's acceptance and calm presence anchored her, providing a stability she knew she could never find anywhere else.
After a moment's silence, Michael extended his hand. "Let's keep moving," he said, his voice steady. "If this Tarlok was here, we'll likely face more threats that test us."
They moved onward, Valencia's lingering hunger gnawing at the edges of her mind, even as she tried to suppress it. She knew that her need for him, for his blood, was only growing stronger with each encounter, and that her possessiveness was evolving into something darker. Yet, as they descended deeper into the dungeon, she felt a thrill, knowing that Michael was irrevocably bound to her as her strength—and her weakness—intertwined with his.