My Blood Legacy: Reincarnated as a Vampire

Dante descended into the fourth circle of Hell, his footsteps echoing on the worn stones as the environment around him drastically changed. Unlike the chaotic winds of lust or the fetid mud of gluttony, this circle was a barren landscape of rocky desolation and darkness. A faint glow emanated from the ground, illuminating just enough to reveal the details of the torment before him.

Mountains of gold, jewels, and wealth were piled around, but there was no beauty or order to them. They were chaotic heaps, grotesque representations of greed and prodigality. Tormented souls, thin and miserable, pushed enormous circular weights, spheres of stone or metal, with endless effort. The sounds of groaning and screams echoed through the heavy air, while other souls, equally condemned, pushed against them in the opposite direction.

Dante observed for a moment, noticing the repetitive pattern. "They're trapped in an eternal cycle," he murmured to himself. "Pushing, struggling, but never reaching anything. The weight of their excesses in life, now their chains."

A grotesque figure emerged from the shadows, interrupting his contemplation. It had the form of a man, but with long, disproportionate arms that ended in sharp claws. Its back was hunched by the weight of a grotesquely large crown of gold, seemingly embedded in its skull.

"You who walk among the dead," the creature growled, its voice deep and resonant. "This is the realm of the greedy. Here, the weight of covetousness can never be relieved."

Dante raised an eyebrow, his gaze cold. "And who exactly do you think you are, speaking to me like that?"

"I am Plutus, the guardian of this circle," the creature replied, straightening up as the jewels on its crown gleamed with a sinister light. "And you, stranger, do not belong here."

Dante sighed, uncrossing his arms as he looked at the being before him. "I belong nowhere, and yet, here I am. If you're the guardian, then stop me, if you can."n/ô/vel/b//in dot c//om

"I have no time for that... Just leave," Plutus replied, something Dante didn't expect... "I can just... leave?" he asked, confused. He could have sworn... Well, he was ready to kill another demon to move forward.

Plutus huffed, his expression marked by a mix of boredom and disdain. "Do you think everyone here wants to fight you? That all the guardians of Hell want to prove something?" He gestured with one of his claws toward the souls condemned to push their eternal burdens. "Look around. Most are trapped in pointless cycles. And I? I'm tired of it all. Tired of seeing the same despair, the same greed."

Dante crossed his arms again, now intrigued. "You're saying you're not going to stop me? That I can just pass?"

Plutus took a step forward, the stones beneath his feet creaking. "I said leave. If you want to dive deeper into this abyss, who am I to stop you? I tend to this cycle, but I have no interest in wasting my time with someone like you."

Dante narrowed his eyes, suspicious. It was rare to find someone in Hell who didn't want to destroy or test him. "This seems... too easy. Where's the trick? You're the guardian of this circle, shouldn't you try to stop me?"

Plutus let out a rough laugh, as though Dante had told a particularly bad joke. "Oh, kid, do you think I'm like Minos or Cerberus? A trained dog to jump at command? I protect this circle because it's my duty, but honestly, what would you do here? Steal the suffering of the souls? Absorb the sins of greed? Go ahead. Maybe you'll even like the taste."

Dante frowned, discomfort evident. He didn't trust Plutus, but at the same time, the guardian's indifference seemed genuine. He took a few steps forward, expecting some kind of trap or surprise attack, but nothing happened. Plutus just stood there, watching.

"You really won't stop me?" Dante asked again, still incredulous.

"No, go away," Plutus replied, a touch of weariness in his voice. "But if you insist, I might change my mind."

Dante let out a sigh of relief mixed with frustration. "You're... the strangest guardian I've ever met."

"And you're the most annoying intruder I've ever encountered," Plutus retorted with an ironic smile. "Now go. Before I change my mind and decide to knock that arrogance out of you by force."

Dante gave one last glance at Plutus before moving forward, passing the cursed piles of wealth and the tormented souls. Still, he couldn't help but glance over his shoulder. Plutus remained standing, motionless, like a statue, his eyes fixed on the condemned souls.

"Curious," Dante murmured to himself, casting one last look at the demon before continuing. Plutus remained behind, a stationary and enigmatic figure in the dark horizon of the fourth circle. Something about that interaction unsettled him, but he chose not to linger. Hell had its own twisted logic, and Dante knew trying to understand it was a futile exercise.

He began walking, his firm steps echoing through the distant laments and the constant grinding of the condemned souls. Ahead of him, a procession of tortured figures dragged enormous weights, their objects shining with the metallic gleam of earthly riches. The ground was marked with deep ruts, carved by the endless effort of these souls in their eternal task.

Dante walked toward the direction from which they came, his eyes scanning for any sign of danger. The atmosphere was suffocating, heavy with the scent of oxidized metal and the sound of chains binding the souls to their burdens. He passed piles of gold and jewels, mountains of riches that seemed to silently scream their stories of betrayal, greed, and death.

"How many lives have been destroyed by these useless things?" he murmured, kicking a chain that blocked his path. The metallic sound echoed, but no soul lifted their eyes or reacted. They were completely submerged in their torment, pushing, pulling, advancing only to be pushed back to the starting point.

Dante stopped for a moment, observing the scene carefully. The winds from the previous circle still seemed to haunt him, but here the torment was quieter, more insidious. There were no explosions of rage or wild screams; only deep exhaustion and a pain that seemed eternal.

"If this is what greed means," he murmured as he started walking again, "then maybe some of them deserved this fate." But his voice carried a hint of doubt, as if he himself wasn't entirely sure of that.

As he continued, Dante noticed the ground around him beginning to change. The scattered riches and the souls dragging their burdens became more sparse, as if something was running out. In the distance, a dense darkness appeared, a black curtain that separated the next stage of his journey.

"What the hell is...?" Dante didn't have time to finish the sentence. A spear, strangely familiar, cut through the air toward his head. He leaned to the side, narrowly avoiding it. The impact made the ground tremble, creating a massive crater before the spear returned with impressive speed, almost striking him again.

On the horizon, a figure appeared. Floating, a towering man with golden hair and piercing blue eyes, clad in armor so bright it seemed to reflect all the light around him. "The son of the one who killed me," the man's voice resonated with strength, as though carried by the wind.

"Look at that... the God who died..." Dante murmured with a mocking smile. "I thought you'd gone to Helheim when you died, but it seems this sector of Hell swallowed you up quite nicely, huh?"

The figure, with its undeniable presence, began to multiply, green, pulsating energy emanating from his body. The tension in the air became palpable.

"You... know about my homeland?" The man murmured, his voice filled with apprehension.

"Of course I do," Dante replied, keeping his provocative smile. "After all, your dear daughter is with me."

"Fenrir...?" The man whispered, his eyes narrowing with a mixture of anger and fear.

"Ah, so you remember her..." Dante said, his voice laced with cruelty. "How ironic, coming from the father who abandoned her. Isn't it, Loki?" He let out a low, mocking laugh, savoring every second of the provocation.

Loki, the God of Mischief, seemed to lose his composure, the tension on his face growing. His gaze, once confident and arrogant, now overflowed with contained rage. The figures multiplying around him, like exact copies of his image, began to group together, creating an aura of uncontrollable power. The green energy emanating from him made the air vibrate, weighing down on everything as if reality itself was distorting around him.

"You... don't know what you're saying," Loki spoke in a hoarse voice, as though trying to conceal the pain he felt. "Fenrir... my daughter... I did what I had to do, what was necessary. Don't come at me with your lies and provocations."

Dante took a step forward, undeterred by Loki's overwhelming presence and his copies. He was enjoying the discomfort he was causing, like a hunter who knows he's about to make his prey fall into the trap.

"Lies?" Dante said with a cynical, defiant smile. "No, Loki... I'm not lying. I'm just reminding you that it was you who left her behind, you who abandoned her, even knowing what she would face. Now, she's under my control, and you're trapped here, pathetically trying to recover what you lost."

Loki made a sudden gesture with his hand, as if attempting to disintegrate Dante with a single motion, but the copies began to disappear, dissolving into the air as if being pulled into another dimension. The pressure around them seemed to lessen, but the hatred in his eyes didn't fade.

"You will pay for this," Loki threatened, his voice now calmer but filled with silent fury. His eyes glowed with a rage that could incinerate everything around him. "You will regret this bitterly."

Dante let out a low laugh, a sneer forming on his lips. "Oh, don't make that face, little god without powers. You're here, right? You're dead. You're no longer who you were... And I'm the master of this world now, greedy being." He waved his hand dismissively, as if brushing away something insignificant.

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With a simple gesture, the ground beneath his feet cracked, and a wave of black Miasma surged upwards, shaping itself into twisted and grotesque figures. An army of the dead, made of pure Miasma, emerged from the earth. Their eyes were empty, their forms distorted, but their presence was palpable, like an immense tide of shadows.

"Go ahead," Dante continued with a deadly calm, his words carrying a subtle threat. "I'll wait... after all, we have much to discuss, don't we? You caused great trauma in the mind of MY VALENTINA, and that... that will not go unanswered." His eyes gleamed with a cold intensity. "I will avenge her, Loki. And every second of it will be more pleasurable than you can imagine."