Chương 48

Oliver gasped for air and scooted backwards. As he did so, the Vampire Lord whirled around." You live?

"the powerful being asked, aghast." How? Wait, I see now. Interesting. You suffered not the curse of Lycanthrope, but rather used an artifact to simulate the curse. It actively replaced your body with that of a werewolf's. Fascinating. Not entirely unheard of, though certainly rare. That means you would have, indeed, been a viable vassal for vampirism." While alive, Oliver's human right arm had returned to its broken state from before his wolf transformation. Every subtle movement sent spikes of pain.

He desperately tried to focus on a way out of this situation, but the pain shattered every bit of concentration he scrounged up. Vladislaus Orlak Vyprianiv II once again stepped down from his elevated throne. His black boots took up Oliver's vision as he stood over him. They reminded him of black leather riding boots, but the leatherworking was stylized with elegant swirls that took the shape of dripping beads of blood. The Vampire Lord bent down.

His cold, gloved hand clasped around Oliver's shattered wrist and lifted it. The chill that went through Oliver's blood at their contact, momentarily distracted him from the agonizing pain. Even through his blurry vision, Oliver watched the Ring of Lycanthrope flake off his hand as it was lifted. The quest reward was used up, nothing more than a bit of rust." A pity, it appears the artifact is no longer recoverable."

The Vampire Lord switched hands, releasing Oliver's limp arm in favor of wrapping his cold fingers around his neck. Even gloved, the strength of the grip punctured Oliver's skin as the Nightmare Biome's administrator squeezed. Unable to wield his shovel with his nondominant hand, Oliver instead grasped around in his bag.

His fingers knocked against potions and hallucinogens he'd taken back in the biome with the mushrooms, a wooden talisman of insect repulsion the length of his pinky, vials of poison from the torture chamber, the whip, a single remaining healing potions, a box of silver dust, spare silver bullets, the book from the library, his remaining salt, and the Face of Carter mask. For a moment, he considered trying to slap the mask on the Vampire Lord's face while he was up close and personal. But that wouldn't work.

This wasn't like with his last fight with a vampire. Vladislaus was over 20 levels higher than her and any attack from Oliver would be knocked aside with ease. It would be the same result as if Oliver attempted to stake the Vampire Lord with one of the wooden stakes at his belt. Fruitless. A flake of the rusted ring drifted down in the air beside Oliver. He dimly thought to himself that it must have gotten knocked airborne when the Vampire Lord heaved him up.

If his windpipe wasn't actively getting crushed, he might have chuckled. A haze obscured his vision as his consciousness faded. That tiny, useless bit of spent ring continued to rattle around in his mind as everything dimmed. Something was there with it. An idea. A plan. Without giving the movement much thought. Oliver's hand clamped down on the mask in his bag. Using every bit of speed from the Dexterity accrued from his five years of leveling, Oliver slammed the Face of Carter onto his own face.

Unlike with the Ring of Lycanthrope, his body didn't fully reform to fit this new configuration. However, some small part of him did change. His arm, or rather, Carter's arm, snapped into place. The bones renewed and muscles fully functional once again. His vision cleared for a moment as his features took on that of an ugly man past his prime. The one downside was that he felt his teeth fall out of his face, rejected by the man's toothless image.

But Oliver barely even noted that as the pain in his body suddenly evaporated. This novel's true home is a different platform. Support the author by finding it there." A mask? What is this? Another quest re—" The Vampire Lord never finished his sentence as he took the flat of a shovel to the face. Oliver didn't give him a chance to recover. He got one more smack and a spear-like stab between the Vampire Lord's ribs. Vladislaus bore his teeth at Oliver, fangs gleaming in the blue torchlight.

Not even removing the silver tool from his body, he peeled a glove from one hand, exposing skin as pale as bone. His nails each came to a sharpened, knife-like point. The Vampire Lord darted forward at an untraceable speed. Stumbling back, Oliver barely avoided the lethal attack. The nails scraped the edge of his throat. He quickly pressed a palm against the wound and it came back bloody, but that attack hadn't pierced his windpipe. It was fine. Barely a set back.

He shuddered to think what the monster could have accomplished without a silver shovel embedded into his body. He doubted he would have exited the exchange with simply a bad cut. While his one hand had checked the damage to his throat, his other hadn't been inactive. Every moment was precious in a battle like this. It grabbed a hold of his remaining silver dust and he dumped it over himself.

He had noted before that the dust acted a bit like glitter, in that it was impossible to get rid of once a bit escaped the box. It wouldn't be a perfect protection, but the dark cloud emitted from Vladislaus earlier had avoided breaking the bits of him that his silver shovel touched. He hoped this would act as a sufficient defense to deter an identical attack. The Vampire Lord hissed as he grasped the silver shovel still embedded in his chest. His ungloved hand steamed and its bone white coloring reddened.

Blistered bubbled up and popped on his once flawless skin. Then the shovel clattered to the stone floor. It joined Oliver's blunderbuss pistol in its distance out of Oliver's reach. The Vampire Lord's skin returned to its natural pallor mere moments after leaving contact with the metal. The bubbling red boils smoothed back into flawlessness. Vladislaus floated forward, disdain scrawled across his face. Still, Oliver clung to a rash, stupid plan. Tattered and ripped, his clothing remained on him.

That included his belt. He grabbed one of the wooden stakes holstered there and, rather than fleeing, he tackled the incoming lord of the Nightmare Biome. Vladislaus's clothing protected him from the majority of the silver dust clinging to Oliver. However, removing that glove earlier had been a mistake. It left only his left hand available to press against Oliver effectively. In many ways, that was more than enough. Oliver felt his forearm's bones crush under the monstrous grip. However, he still had one arm free.

He plunged the stake into the Vampire Lord's chest. In a desperate bid to escape his doom, Vladislaus returned to his gaseous form. Oliver fell through the smoke and hit the stone floor. A grinding noise, like sand caught between teeth, reverberated around him. He felt unprotected parts of him rip apart. His already tattered clothing ripped in a hundred new places. The skin under it fared no better. Without dust on his eyeballs, they became an easy target for the Vampire Lord's vengeance.

They didn't just pop, the black mist slit the eyeballs open and slipped inside. Then, after slicing their way down to the base, it expanded, exploding his eyes from within. The warm goo of his eyes trickled down his face, leaving a thumb-sized trail that pushed aside the silver dust as it dribbled. A puncture into his cheek and it was over for Oliver. He felt the black mist gleefully escape down into her throat.

As it forced its way down, the smoke tore and rendered his insides like swallowing a fistful of razorblades. You realize that that shirt you stole from me prevents mind altering skills, but not the act of possession? a voice said from inside his head. This is because possessions seizes control of the body and leaves your mind intact. It is rare that I resort to such base means of control. Some lessers of my ilk use it to skulk about in the streets and ambush.

I have no desire to frolic in the mud with the livestock. This does, however, seem a fitting way to end you. I've heard it's a horrifically painful way to depart the land of the living. Perhaps I should repair this vessel a few times with potions to watch it degrade time and time again. Punishment for your insolence. And to think, I offered your greatness. Shameful. With Vladislaus monologuing in his head, it offered Oliver a shred of control over his body. The word was dark pain.

But in his hand, he still clutched the small, sharp scrap of wood. Not letting himself second guess his action, Oliver raised the wooden stake, and plunged it into his own heart. Oliver died. Again. The mask on his face shattered.