[SYSTEM INITIATION SEQUENCE: COMPLETE]
"Hello there... up you go. We have work to do, Master."
A cold, sultry whisper coiled through Luke's ears, dragging him from the depths of unconsciousness. The voice was not human. It slithered between syllables like a serpent of fire and shadow.
[SYSTEM ONLINE]
[MIMIC GHOUL SYSTEM HAS NOW BEEN ACTIVATED]
Luke's eyes snapped open, glowing faintly with a crimson hue.
[Transformation available: HELLHOUND]
Category Unlocked:
Werewolves
Vampires
Ghouls
[Locked Forms (Pending Unlock Conditions):]
Vampire [LOCKED]
Ghoul [LOCKED]
A burning sigil etched itself across Luke's chest, pulsing in sync with his heartbeat.
[New Ability Unlocked: PYROKINESIS]
Flames are now your second skin, Master. Burn with purpose.
[Move List: Combat Protocol Initialized]
Hellfire Rush – Launch forward cloaked in roaring flame, incinerating anything in your path.
Mad Dog Howl – A furious cry that stuns enemies and rallies nearby ferals.
Ashen Echo – Leave behind a phantom echo of yourself formed from smoldering ash to mislead and strike.
Intefernal Hurricane – Unleash a vortex of fire and wind from within, shredding enemies in close range.
Cindrary Talons – Your claws ignite, tearing through armor and flesh with searing heat.
[PASSIVE ABILITIES UNLOCKED]
Fire Armor
Your body is wreathed in a thin veil of superheated flame. Minor physical attacks are deflected or burned away. Melee attackers receive burn damage on contact.
Boiling Bite
Your bite is fused with internal heat. Every chomp boils blood, sears nerve endings, and leaves internal burn trauma. High chance to cause panic or disorientation in bitten foes.
Luke staggered to his feet, breath fogging in the cold air despite the inferno rising inside him.
The voice returned, softer now, yet brimming with dark joy.
"Let's show them what a monster really looks like."
"Wait—what are you talking about? Who are you? Where did you come from?"
The flood of questions hit Luke all at once, crashing through his mind in a whirlwind of confusion and rising panic. His heart pounded against his ribs like a drum, his thoughts scattered and disoriented.
A low chuckle echoed in the space between his thoughts, smooth and oddly refined—yet undeniably inhuman.
"Ah… my sincerest apologies, young master," the voice replied, its tone dipped in aristocratic mockery and ancient patience. "Forgive me for the lack of proper introduction. I will say, though—it would be much easier to explain… if you would kindly open your eyes."
Luke hesitated for a breath, unsure whether he was dreaming, dead, or mad. But instinct—something primal and burning—urged him to obey.
He opened his eyes.
The world that greeted him was stranger than any dream, yet far too vivid to be a hallucination. Towering Gothic castles clawed toward a blood-colored sky, their spires twisted like thorns. The city stretched in all directions with grand, decaying beauty—Victorian architecture woven with Catholic and Anglican influences, cathedrals standing side by side with grim old chapels, their stained-glass windows depicting saints
And then—directly before him—stood the being behind the voice.
He was impossible to miss.
A tall man with spiky white hair just barely visible beneath a rugged, black top hat, adorned with a single large obsidian feather that curved like a raven's wing. His outfit was a sharp, archaic Victorian tuxedo, tailored perfectly yet worn as if through centuries of travel. One of his four arms rested casually on a ruby-encrusted cane, while the others gestured with exaggerated flair.
His skin was pale as moonlight, and his eyes glowed a deep, unnatural violet—radiating a living flame of arcane energy. The air around him shimmered with heat and menace, yet his smile was calm, even courteous… like a nobleman welcoming a guest to a dinner party that would end in blood.
"There now," the man said with a theatrical bow, one hand tipping his hat as the others flourished behind him.
"Welcome to your awakening, Master Luke. I am your system's emissary, your guide, your humble steward through this next… fiery evolution."
Luke stepped back, the crackling of scorched ground beneath his feet catching his attention. Heat pulsed from his own body—his skin, his bones, even his breath. Flames danced along his arms without burning him.
"My what? What the hell is going on?" he managed, voice hoarse with disbelief.
The man with the violet eyes grinned wider, his teeth unnaturally sharp.
"You, dear boy, have been chosen by the Mimic Ghoul System. Your transformation is only beginning. And I Atticus Grayfall have been tasked with preparing you for the trials to come."
He spun his cane once and tapped it to the ground. The world responded—sigils igniting in the sky, runes flaring across the nearby cathedral's face. Something ancient had begun.
Atticus twirled his cane again, its tip sparking faintly against the scorched ground. His many hands moved with the elegance of a stage magician, drawing unseen glyphs in the air that shimmered before dissolving into nothingness.
"You've been granted the power of a Mimic," he declared, his voice curling with theatrical pride. "Your body is now a vessel of limitless potential—capable of transforming into any beast you defeat. Their strength, their skills, their very essence… all yours to bend, shape, and master."
Luke's eyes narrowed slightly. The flames licking across his forearms surged in rhythm with his rising heartbeat.
"As you conquer more monsters," Atticus continued, "you will unlock new abilities—new forms. The System will also offer tasks, mundane as they may seem—two hundred push-ups, kicking stone a hundred times, testing your limits in this vessel of flame. In return, your physical parameters will grow. Strength. Speed. Endurance."
He leaned in, violet eyes blazing. "And of course, you have me—my eternal knowledge is at your disposal. All the forbidden arts, lost rituals, tactical wisdom... I am your living archive."
The air thickened with possibility.
"So then, Master," he said with a silken grin. "What shall we do? Seize a kingdom? Forge a tome of mimics and build an empire in your name? Come now—tell me your heart's desire."
Luke stared at his own hands—flickering with fire, not his own. His thoughts boiled over, clashing and merging like molten steel in a forge. He didn't know what had brought him here, or who had buried this fury deep in his soul—but he knew what he wanted.
His voice came low at first, but steady.
"I want to kill the Fallen."
Atticus froze for half a heartbeat, his head tilting with rapt attention.
Luke stepped forward, heat radiating from his core.
"Every last one of them," he said. "Every wolf. Every ghoul. Every vampire that turned this world into a nightmare."
A long silence stretched.
Then Atticus threw his head back and howled with delight.
"HHHHHAAAAAA—SPLENDID, DEAR MASTER! MAGNIFICENT!"
He spun in place like a man possessed, arms flaring wide as violet fire burst from the tips of his fingers. "Your dream is sublime! Your vision—glorious! As your humble servant, I shall help you bring it to life!"
He slammed his cane into the ground, and the earth trembled. Sigils flared beneath their feet like the gears of a god's clock beginning to turn.
"Let the world burn if it must," he hissed. "We will write your vengeance into the bones of this realm."
Luke's eyes ignited brighter, as if the fire inside him had finally found direction. Purpose.
There would be no going back.
Not now.
Not ever.
Atticus raised a single gloved finger, and the sky itself seemed to shudder. A sound like a lock turning inside the bones of the world echoed through the air.
"Ah, Master," he said with a knowing grin, "before we embark on our delightful crusade to butcher all who bear the cursed blood of the Fallen… I must entrust you with some much-needed knowledge."
He tapped the tip of his cane to Luke's forehead—lightly, like a teacher prompting a student—and a surge of invisible data seared through Luke's skull.
[SYSTEM: FALLEN ARCHIVE ACCESSED]
[Loading Classifications… Decryption Complete.]
FALLEN CATEGORIES
Corrupted creatures that once walked among mortals. Now, they exist only to consume, conquer, and corrupt.
WEREWOLVES
Dog-like monsters born beneath bleeding moons. Lunar energy fuels their transformations. Packs are hierarchical, brutal, and ritualistic.
Sub-Categories:
• Hellhound: Flame-based mutation. Smolders from within. Breath ignites flesh.
• Umbrahound: Shadow-forged. Can phase through darkness and vanish.
• Windigo: Echo-based. Wields sound and wind to disorient and shred prey.
• Cerberus: Nova-based. Radiates searing energy. Known to split into three heads in battle.
• [Other rare variants undisclosed]
VAMPIRES
Once noble, now monstrous. Vampires harvest life to prolong their curse. Their minds are sharp, their hunger eternal.
Sub-Categories:
• Cryomancer: Ice-born blood drinkers. Freeze flesh and memory.
• Leech: Absorption-based. Grow stronger by draining skills, not just blood.
• Puppet Master: Manipulate dolls—and corpses—with horrifying precision.
• Gravity Master: Distorts physical law. Can bend cities into ruin.
• [Other castes veiled in blood-soaked secrecy]
GHOULS
The feral and forgotten. Flesh-walkers. Graveborn. Once human… no longer.
Sub-Categories:
• Hecatoncheires: Multi-armed monstrosities. Each limb remembers a kill.
• Gecko: Lizard-hybrids. Fast. Cling to ceilings. See heat.
• Beastman: Horrors in animal skin. Raw strength, broken minds.
• Necro: Undead warriors. Move like puppets… strike like soldiers.
• [Subterranean types remain unclassified]
FALLEN RANKS
Hierarchical caste system. Power defined by transformation depth and ritual blood-right. Ascension often through devouring one's superior.
Known Tiers (Strongest to Weakest):
• IMPERIALS (World-renders. Near godhood.)
• Onyx Blood
• Crypt King
• Tomb Master
• Reborn Prince
• Shadow Embryo
• OMEGA (Singular entities. Reality-warpers.)
• ALPHA (Pack Leaders. Commanders.)
• BETA (Elite hunters. Intelligent.)
• DELTA (Veteran warriors. Often mutated.)
• GAMMA (The weak. The fodder. The expendable.)
"Master, if we are to make your dream a reality, we must defeat the apex predators of this world—and take their powers for ourselves," Atticus said, twirling his cane, tossing it from hand to hand with theatrical grace. He spun and slid dramatically across the scorched earth, every movement a performance.
"The Imperials," he continued, voice tightening. "Those eldritch horrors must fall. Only then will the rest follow."
He paused, his many hands gesturing in rhythmic elegance.
"But this task won't be easy. We'll need to grow—gain strength and transformations as we climb through the ranks. Do you understand?"
Luke, his eyes glowing faintly, nodded with a trance-like intensity.
"Yes. I do."
The system wasn't controlling him—no, it was amplifying him. His rage, his pain, his grief—it all surged with greater focus, sharpened and honed like a blade. And that blade pointed at the source of it all:
The Fallen.
Unforgivable monsters.
"Ah, your resolve is strong, Master," Atticus purred, eyes glittering. "Then allow me to test it. Witness who we are up against."
With a flick of his cane, the world shifted.
Reality warped around Luke, reshaping itself into a vision of madness. The ground split and bled violet light. Mountains burned with purple flame. The air reeked of ash and death. Fallen beasts prowled freely, slaughtering without mercy.
And at the center of the chaos—stood it.
A humanoid figure, draped in four white, bat-like wings that cloaked its slender, sickly form. Fur curled around its neck, while its face—if it could be called that—resembled a warped wooden plank, shaped like a shield, jagged branches jutting from its crown. Its four eyes, white turned black, glowed with ruby-red irises, pulsing with a hypnotic aura.
Behind it floated four jagged, spiked rings of burning red energy, nested inside one another like some infernal mandala.
With every motion of its hand, toxic flora erupted from the ground—plants that burned, melted, and consumed its enemies. Crystalline energy shattered the land, while time itself twisted at its command. Mountains bent. The world froze. Reality unraveled.
Luke fell to his knees and vomited.
The carnage, the slaughter—it was too much. He thought he'd seen horror before. He'd watched thousands die trying to take down a single Alpha. But this… this was something worse. Something beyond nightmare.
Atticus tilted his head.
"Do you still wish to pursue this task, Master?"
Luke wiped his mouth. His breath was ragged, and terror still clung to the edges of his soul. But something deeper stirred within—a core of molten fury that refused to die.
He looked up, eyes blazing.
"Yes," he growled. "Those bastards need to die. And I'll drag every last one of them to hell if I have to."
Atticus grinned, revealing rows of razor-sharp teeth. The expression gave him the look of a villain, yet his eyes shimmered with something far worse than malice—delight.
"Finally," he thought. "A man as mad as I am."
He licked his lips, cane twirling once more.
"We shall get along splendidly, Master."