Absolute Cheater

These were not mere inheritances.

Each one born from the origin of a different law or force that he had mastered to its zenith.

And of those seven, only two had ever surfaced.

One was the Predation Absolute, and from his Absolute Appraisal he know it was some known as Wolrd Devouring Slime that have got it.

The other… was Eternal Creation, the crown of boundless birth and reinvention.

And this—this second legacy—was what had been claimed by Asher.

There were five more fragments still lost across existence, hidden not just within unknown worlds, but in sealed constructs of layered dimensions, tucked inside the folds of cosmic dreamscapes and entropy prisons. S

To put it in perspective:

If a single universe could be likened to a grain of sand… and a cosmos to a handful… then the Elder Realities—those higher formations of multiversal chains—were the oceans.

And somewhere within those oceans, drowned beneath time and perception, slept the remaining legacies of the first vampire.

Asher very much wanted to claim the remaining fragments of the Progenitor's legacy.

But in all the four universes he had traveled through, he hadn't found a single clue—not a whisper, not a trace. The legacies were buried deeper than even his reach could touch… for now.

He exhaled slowly, shaking his head as he returned his attention to the woman before him.

She was striking—like all vampires, creatures born of allure and danger. But even among them, she stood out.

Her long silver hair shimmered like moonlight brushed over silk, cascading down her back in gentle waves. Her eyes, a deep, blood-rich crimson, glowed softly with curiosity and instinct. Her form was sculpted, the perfect hourglass figure clad in flowing obsidian robes that clung to her like a lover's whisper.

She looked like a muse carved from desire itself—a being born from myths of lust and shadow.

Yet Asher noticed something else.

The city around them was filled with beauty—both male and female vampires bearing stunning, flawless features. Their kind had long since evolved beyond simple biological constraints; allure was in their blood, as natural as hunger.

But he didn't linger on it.

Instead, he turned and began to walk past her. She started to follow, but hesitated. "I didn't catch your name," she said softly, her voice smooth as velvet.

He glanced back. "I didn't give it," he said coolly, then allowed the edge of a smile to touch his lips. "But… you may call me Asher."

She blinked. "Asher…" She said it like tasting an ancient wine—slowly, thoughtfully—and then flushed slightly as if realizing the weight in his presence, the bloodcrown still faintly glowing above his head. Her composure faltered, and she stumbled over her next words. "I-It's an honor. Truly."

Asher gave a small nod, then continued down the stone path leading deeper into the vampire city, his cloak whispering behind him.

She followed in silence, still blushing faintly, wondering just who—or what—she had just met.

The woman watched him disappear down the obsidian path, his presence lingering in the air like an afterimage burned into her soul. She stood still for a few breaths longer, then turned and swiftly vanished into the winding alleys of the city—back toward the heart of the Duskroot Palace.

This city, veiled beneath the eternally night-wreathed canopy of Shaderift Valley, was called Vireth Noctis, and it had been hidden from the rest of the world for nearly a thousand years. Here, under the watch of the Duskroot bloodline, the last royal vampires of this world had survived in self-imposed exile, far from mortal politics and sunlit kingdoms.

And she—Lira Duskroot—was its youngest princess.

As she slipped past towering spires and crimson lanterns glowing with soulfire, Lira's thoughts swirled in quiet turmoil. Her steps eventually brought her to a carved stone balcony overlooking the blackglass lake at the city's center. Below her, shadow-sails drifted across the still waters, ferrying nobles and traders. The vampire city, elegant and eternal, pulsed with its own dark beauty.

But her mind was far from it.

"He has the Progenitor's blood…" she whispered to herself, her hand resting just below her collarbone where her heart beat faster than it had in years.

"But then… why is he weak?" Lira thought, as an idea bloomed in her mind. "Then… isn't he the son of the Progenitor?" Her eyes widened as she followed the thread of that thought, and images came unbidden—flashes of half-remembered myths and ancient dreams.

"But if he is the Progenitor's son, then he must crave high-quality blood. Although we have powered races… even blood slaves… their blood may not sustain him."

"Yes… and if he truly carry the Progenitor's bloodline, I—I should be the one to feed him. Let him drink from me."

She murmured it like a vow, trembling with a mix of longing and desire. In her mind, she imagined the Progenitor himself embracing her, drawing blood from her neck—an ancient, sacred communion. Vampires value blood over everything else, and for her… to feed someone who held the Progenitor's blood was like an wet fanstasy coming true.

"Wait for me, Progenitor's heir…" she whispered, and with sudden resolve, she rushed back through the mist-shrouded city to find Asher once more.

Asher, unaware that he had gained a strange follower, continued to stroll through the ancient vampire city. He had ended the projection of his Bloodcrown, concealing the overwhelming presence of his lineage. Without it, none could sense that he wasn't a Progenitor vampire at all, though they can still sense he is an Vampire.

Still, many vampires glanced at him curiously. After all, he was wearing a hooded cloak in broad daylight—odd behavior, even in this twilight-shielded realm. His aura was muted but unfamiliar, and he walked with the ease of one who did not fear the dark.

But vampires were laid-back creatures by nature. Curiosity flickered in their eyes, but none approached. They looked once, then simply forgot about him and returned to the rhythm of their eternal night lives—bartering in shadowed markets, weaving silk from soulspiders, sipping bloodwine in floating courtyards, and discussing bloodlines as casually as humans spoke of the weather.