Chapter 228 Samara



Sancta Vedelia stood as a testament to the possibility of coexistence among races, a dream that had once seemed laughable. The land was a vibrant tapestry woven from the presence of Elves, Humans, Vampires, and Werewolves, residing together within its borders.

Long before, this harmonious existence would have been regarded as a far-fetched fantasy due to the deep-seated animosity that had festered between these races for centuries. Their differences in beliefs and the feeling of superiority over others had kept them bitterly divided. But that was before the Blood Moon War, an event that occurred five centuries ago and reshaped the course of history. In the heart of Sancta Vedelia, the various races united to combat a common foe—the Vampire-Witch. Bound by necessity, they set aside their grudges and prejudices, fighting together against a mutual threat.

The defeat of the Vampire-Witch marked the birth of a newfound trust among the races. The Holy Tree of Eden, a symbol of unity and renewal, granted its blessing to all inhabitants, further cementing the bond between them. Love blossomed across once-impassable boundaries, leading to connections that transcended racial lines. However, as the generations passed, the heroes who had fostered this unity faded into memory, and discrimination began to rear its ugly head once more.

A divide emerged between the 'lesser' humans and the 'Halves.' The latter, often born without the inherent abilities of either race, found themselves ostracized. Lacking the innate talents of Elves, Humans, Vampires, or Werewolves, they were seen as a deviation from the norm, sometimes even bearing deformities or imperfections that set them apart. While not everyone subscribed to such prejudices, within the circles of the high nobility, particularly among certain Great Houses, these discriminatory beliefs took root.

Samara, a young girl born to a Vampire father and an Elven mother, embodied the struggle of the 'Halves.' Her lineage had gifted her none of the typical traits associated with either race. Instead, her existence was marked by a lethal power that inadvertently caused death and destruction around her. What made her situation even more sinister was her ability to heal herself by absorbing the lives her power took. While this seemed reminiscent of the Vampires' regeneration, Samara's process was fundamentally distinct.

Tragically, her power had first manifested when she was forced to kill her own uncle, who had attempted to force himself on her. The cycle of death and fear escalated from there. Eventually, her remaining family, her aunt, driven by terror of her uncontrollable abilities, cast her into a deep well. Yet, even in that isolated darkness, her lethal energy reached beyond, claiming the lives of others. Desperation led her family to summon the strongest individuals they could find, who worked together to seal the well. Samara's demise was agonizingly slow, as they submerged her in water that burned and purified, each drop chipping away at her life until her body finally succumbed. This grueling process continued for a week, a desperate attempt to prevent her from inflicting further harm on the world.

***

-Splash!

With an unseen force tugging at me, I plummeted into the pitch-black abyss and plunged into scalding water.

"...!" Agony surged through my body as the boiling liquid seared my flesh upon impact. Struggling to stand, I was immediately met with another torrent of scorching water, this time from above. "Damn it!" I grunted, collapsing back into the water.

Calm down, I told myself, attempting to steady my breathing and endure the excruciating sensation of being submerged in boiling water. Gritting my teeth against the pain, I focused on the rhythmic sound of droplets echoing in the watery chamber.

But then, a startling pair of deep blue eyes appeared before me, shattering my momentary focus. My heart raced for a brief second at the unexpected sight of the girl, her wet hair veiling her face.

"Not a fan of this, huh..." I muttered, my attention briefly diverted from my own suffering.

The girl, who seemed younger than me, sat against the wall, her knees drawn up to her chest.

"Where did you come from?" Her voice was a hushed whisper, her gaze fixed on me with a mixture of surprise and curiosity.

"More like, from where didn't I come..." I replied cryptically, before attempting to approach the girl.

"...!" My attempt to move was met with an intense surge of pain as my right hand was obliterated. The sensation of weight bore down on my shoulders, my body crushed by some unseen force. Samara's eyes remained fixed on me, a manifestation of the curse I had glimpsed in her memories.

So, this was what she had to endure—the curse that caused her immense suffering.

"It's unbelievably agonizing..." I grunted, forcing myself to extend the remnants of my arm. But it was met with the same fate, reduced to nothingness. Clenching my eyes shut, I grappled with the pain, bracing myself against the wall.

Unfazed by my plight, Samara's gaze remained focused on the wall as she bore the brunt of the boiling water. The sight of her enduring the ordeal without so much as a flinch was eerie.

I groaned as another surge of water struck my face, feeling as if my sanity would crumble if the torture continued much longer.

...

Hours turned into a day, and the rhythms of my heart halted briefly before resuming their beat. I was thrust into a cycle of death and rebirth, each revival accompanied by searing pain.

"What happened to your parents?" I found myself asking, attempting to distract myself from the relentless agony.

"..."

No response came from Samara, her eyes remaining closed.

Drawing closer for a better look, I realized she had lost consciousness, succumbing to the pain that had driven her to this point.

What was I even doing here? Wasn't I supposed to help her?

I forced myself to rise, defying the burns and torment racking my body, my purpose refocused on aiding Samara.

...

But then, a violent explosion erupted within my skull.

"Ha!" I cried out, my world collapsing, only to be rebuilt once more. The cycle continued, a ceaseless dance of death and revival.

"What... Ah..." I gasped, wracked by the agonizing process.

It was like nothing I'd ever felt before, a level of pain and torment that defied description.

...

"Samara." I gathered a handful of water and cast it toward her.

"...!" Her body jolted as her eyes snapped open.

"I'm going to get closer to you, but you need to control your power," I informed her.

"Stay away from me," Samara warned in an icy tone.

I paid her warning no heed, advancing toward her despite the looming danger.

An explosion echoed through my head once again, my world fracturing into oblivion.

"Damn it!" I coughed, consciousness restored, my body rejuvenated. The same sequence played out once more—the torment, the revival.

And yet, I couldn't give up.

"Samara!" I yelled, cupping water in my hand and splashing it in her direction.

Her body flinched, her eyes flickering open.

"I'm coming closer. Focus on restraining your power," I insisted.

"Stay back!" Samara's voice grew colder.

Ignoring her warning, I stepped toward her, each movement a struggle.

And then, my world exploded into shards once more, my body disintegrating into oblivion.

"Listen, Samara," I managed to grit out, my body feeling as if it were being flayed alive with each step. Despite the agony, I moved closer, my determination fueling my movements. Summoning the Anathemas Fire, I enveloped myself in its protective embrace, my body finally able to wield its power.

As I approached Samara, she remained seated, her gaze locked onto me. She shivered slightly, and I could only imagine the fear she must have been feeling.

That damn uncle of hers...

"I'm not here to hurt you," I said, my voice strained as I offered her a reassuring smile through the pain.

Samara's eyes never wavered, but she didn't pull away when I reached out and gently touched her arm. Carefully, I helped her stand, pulling her into an embrace. Her body trembled from the pain, but I did my best to soothe her by patting her hair gently. "Anathemas Fire," I whispered, surrounding her with the protective aura of purple flames. Seating myself in the spot where she had been, I cradled her against me.

Gradually, her torment seemed to ebb as the Anathemas Fire worked its magic, alleviating some of her pain. Even though my body bore the brunt of the water's assault, I could tell that Samara's suffering was abating. Still, she trembled within my embrace, and in an abrupt motion, she obliterated my left arm. I winced but held her tighter, preventing her from escaping my hold.

"Just rest," I muttered, my voice a mix of exhaustion and determination. Continuing to stroke her hair, I encouraged her to find solace in sleep. It was a gesture I had grown familiar with, one I had often used to comfort Annabelle.

As I closed my eyes, the agony of my own body and the cacophony of the water jets faded into the background, replaced by a profound sense of protectiveness for the girl in my arms.

Given that I witnessed her suffer for a few days it was enough. It was difficult as I could do nothing until the girl in question was nearing death but at least I wanted to be there for them at their last moment.