The Mirror World unveiled itself before Nyx in a way that stole the breath from his lungs, as though every page of the Book of Blood had come alive, but darker, richer, heavier with dread. The sky stretched endlessly, black and velvety, and from its heart hung the colossal emerald-green moon, suspended like a jewel chained to nothing, glowing faintly yet suffocatingly in its own ominous light. Its rays painted everything in shades of jade and shadow, each contour exaggerated, each surface twisted into surreal shapes. Mountains loomed like jagged fangs, their peaks glinting faintly as though serrated for a predator's bite. The air smelled metallic, heavy with iron and rot, and every inhale was like drinking the scent of blood-soaked earth. Houses rose from the terrain tall and proud, crafted of black marble slick with an unholy sheen. Their spires and arches curled like claws, reaching for the blackened sky, eager to snatch at anything that dared enter. Trees were gone; in their place were skeletal monstrosities with twisted, vein-like branches and leaves sharper than daggers, some swaying to a rhythm that seemed to echo the moans of unseen creatures. The ground itself writhed, cracked with glowing red fissures, veins of a living, bleeding earth. Nyx's chest tightened. He was terrified, yes, but intoxicated by the thrill of being somewhere no human had any right to be. Every step he took made him feel more alive, yet more alien to the world he had left behind.
From the shadows of the mansion's doorway, a figure emerged. Tall, robed in ink-black fabric that seemed liquid, his face pale and angular, lips dark as dried blood, and eyes glimmering like liquid obsidian. His presence pressed upon Nyx, heavy as the weight of the world. "It's me who summoned you, Nyx. It's me who gave you the book," the figure said, voice smooth, commanding, each syllable a blade. "I am Jamie Oliver—you, naked boy, standing so boldly in this realm." Nyx's heart leapt. This was no mere legend; this was the author, the mysterious hand behind the Book of Blood, and now he stood before him, more real than any nightmare Nyx had ever conjured.
"Are you sure it was you?" Nyx asked, cold and unblinking, the icy precision in his voice masking the awe in his chest. "Because the book feels… incomplete. Like someone else is still writing it." The air tensed. Jamie's eyes flashed, irritation slicing through his pale features. "Stop questioning me," he hissed, venom in each word. With a snap of his fingers, a chest slid forward from the shadows. Inside lay a gown of black velvet, sleeves so long they brushed the floor, embroidered faintly with crimson threads that pulsed like veins, tied with a bold red belt. Jamie extended it toward Nyx. He accepted the gown without hesitation, feeling his mortality dissolve as he donned it, his humanity cloaked in shadowed elegance.
Jamie gestured toward a chair carved from obsidian in bat-like shapes. Nyx sat, the gown pooling around him, shadows gathering at his feet. "I did not call you here on a whim," Jamie said, voice low, full of authority. "I need to cross into the human world. You… were baited, chosen, to grant me that passage." Nyx's smirk was slight, defiant. "If you could send the book, why not go yourself?" Jamie's face tightened, softened into regret. "Laws older than I bind me. You, however… you can act where I cannot. If you wish, I can enroll you in the Law School of our kind. Blood codes, immortal rules, eternal lessons." Nyx's pulse raced. "I want to stay. I'll remain here. Let the humans have their dull lives." Jamie's lips curved—not in kindness. "Not so simple. A bond must seal our exchange. Until then, walk wisely. Vampires see those who touch the ground as prey."
The silver ring, the blurred line from Jane's letter, now mattered. Jamie's eyes narrowed. "Explain. You carried the ring. The blurred condition. How?" Nyx feigned ignorance. "Happened by accident." Half-truths placated Jamie. "Know this," Jamie said, growling low, "only through you could I bargain into the human world. A blood pact will seal our fates." Nyx grinned sharp, daring. "Then go. I'll remain here, where power and blood breathe life."
With the gown draped, Nyx carefully ensured his feet remained unseen. Jamie led him through the mansion gates into the sprawl of the Mirror World. The air was alive, thick with iron and decay, whispering threats and secrets Nyx could almost understand. They reached the Mystic Blood Lake first, vast, crimson, viscous. Faces half-formed and screaming surfaced, then sank back into the liquid, as though the lake devoured memory itself. "Created by the god of vampires," Jamie whispered. "It sustains us. It is eternity." Nyx shivered, horrified and fascinated, stomach twisting at the living blood beneath him.
Next, the Vampire Museum. Obsidian walls towered, statues of fanged lords staring down at scrolls etched in silver and blood-red ink. Ancient battles, the rise and fall of clans, all shimmering as if freshly spilled, breathing history and terror into the cavernous halls. Nyx moved with awe until curiosity drew him beyond the gates, where the air thickened and shadows lengthened. He had entered werewolf territory. Three hulking beasts, fur black as night, eyes like burning coals, lunged at him. Their claws slashed; their fangs dripped foam. Nyx fell, shielding himself—but nothing touched him. The beasts ripped at his gown; he remained unscathed, as though an invisible shield had claimed him. Jamie appeared in a blur, driving the beasts back, whispering in disbelief, "How? What are you, Nyx?" Nyx had no answer. His heart pounded, exhilarated, confused.
Night deepened. Jamie guided him through the Flesh-Eating Flower Garden, where monstrous petals gleamed like daggers, centers gnashing with teeth, saliva dripping. Bones littered the ground. The garden pulsed with hunger, mocking human notions of beauty. Unfazed, Jamie led Nyx onward, until the palace of the Vampire Pyes appeared. Black marble, towers scraping the blood-red sky, gates shaped with veins and fangs, exuding power and menace. Jamie's voice was low, wary: "The Mare family. Pure-bloods. Mind-benders. They do not need to drink. Respect or perish." Nyx froze, understanding the gravity. The family whose whispers haunted the Book of Blood, whose name carried terror, awaited. This was not the end—it was the beginning.
Nyx's pulse raced. Power, danger, hunger, and blood—it all coalesced into a thrill that consumed him. Here, in the heart of the Mirror World, he had stepped beyond mortal limits. Every shadow whispered, every fissure bled secrets, every tree reached for him like a predator. And yet, a hunger deeper than fear surged inside him. This was his world now, and he would carve his name into it—through cunning, blood, and fire.