Victoria descended once more into the Endless Blood Dimension, passing through blood-lit gateways carved from ancient marrow and flowing memory. The scent of rusted destiny filled the air. Cries of jealousy, murder, and betrayal echoed from deep within the Third Layer, each scream a catalyst of new birth.

  From that agony rose dragons—not mere beasts, but blood-forged titans.

  The Crimson Blood Dragons, first-born of fury and primal need, surged into being. Ancestors of all dragonkind, they shaped the bone continents and drank rivers of coaguted faith.

  A hundred thousand years passed within this timeless dimension.

  From them came the Bright Blood Dragons—shining with internal fme, honed by war, ritual, and hierarchy. They cimed the sky-yers and ruled from Thrones of Arterial Fire.

  A million years ter, a decline set in. Diluted by survival and bloodline thinning, the Light Blood Dragons were born—still mighty, but lesser. Fewer horns. Duller scales. Their blood, more water than fme. The st echo of a glorious beginning.

  But there was one who never fell.

  Ansu—the Primordial Blood Dragon, first of his name, eldest of his kind.

  He had become something else.

  Ansu rejected the hierarchy of dragons. He consumed Chaos Matter from the Deepest Sector of the 0-Dimensional Universe—a location without form or meaning. From there, he extracted Nullity Matter, Void Matter, and the rarest of all: Prologue Matter—a primal substance existing before any creation or god.

  Ansu’s hoard wasn’t gold or corpses.

  It was realms.

  He tore a sealed portion from the Third Layer of the Endless Blood Dimension and rewrote it, line by line. A universe was born within that wound. Its sky was cracked gss, its oceans ran with dream-fluid and inverted gravity. Here, matter defied legacy, and time asked no questions.

  And it was growing.

  Inside this universe, Death Matter, Holy Matter, and other divine composites drifted. They had no right to be there—Endless Blood was built on blood cells and rage—but now they flowed, absorbed, and analyzed by Ansu without hesitation.

  When Victoria arrived at the Third Layer, her presence rippled across the sky. Light poured from her frame in cold arcs of authority. Every creature, from blood specter to marrow beast, stepped away—not in fear, but deference.

  Even Ansu paused.

  He emerged from his universe in the form of a cosmic-scaled dragon, red light rippling off his winged form. His voice cracked thunder across yers.

  “Valkyrie. What do you seek in my domain?”

  Victoria met his gaze. No fear. Just a purpose.

  “A void pne colpsed upon itself. Number 10,002. I want eyes there. I want to know why.”

  Ansu didn’t ask why she came to him. He already knew. There were few beings mad enough—or powerful enough—to survive a pce where nothing was the only w.

  He vanished into the dead pne.

  There, within the silent grave of the 10,002nd Void Pne, he found nothingness folding in on itself. Time didn’t move. Light refused to exist. Even Void Matter floated like static ruin.

  Then something changed.

  The Prologue Matter still inside Ansu reacted. Void cshed with proto-creation, and from their collision, an explosion without context was born.

  A second Big Bang.

  Ansu watched it unfold: gaxies forming without rules, stars that whispered, pnets that bled ink. It wasn’t creation—it was an echo. A haunted echo of something before existence had a name.

  He returned to the Endless Blood Dimension.

  “The colpse birthed a new universe,” he said to Victoria. “The Prologue Matter caused it. It wasn’t supposed to happen.”

  Victoria’s eyes narrowed. She nodded, respectfully.

  “You’ve done well. This changes everything.”

  She looked skyward—toward the Fourth Layer—her next destination.

  But Ansu didn’t respond. He had already returned to his work. Consuming matter, shaping realms, hoarding fragments of forgotten beginnings.

  And unknowingly, as he reflected on the event, more Void Matter flooded into him—drawn by the singurity he had caused. It seeped into his scales, pooled in his breath, and nested in his wings.

  Ansu was no longer just a dragon.

  He was becoming something else.

  Victoria and Ansu crossed into the 4th Layer of the Endless Blood Dimension.

  What awaited them was not nd or sky—but a universe made entirely of blood.

  Above them, Blood Suns pulsed with arterial heat. Blood Gaxies spun with slow, liquid gravity, dripping red consteltions into the veins of space. Countless Blood Pnets orbited like heartbeats, each one teeming with life formed from blood, sustained by blood, and thriving on blood.

  This was not chaos. This was not an infection.

  This was a civilization.

  Ansu blinked, and his Primordial Eyes ignited—pulling knowledge straight from the dimension itself.

  He saw the inhabitants:

  Blood Phoenixes soaring between blood sor winds, feathers trailing glowing crimson sparks.

  Herds of Blood Pigs, sacred livestock of war gods, hunted by airborne predators.

  Blood Beastkin—humanoid wolves, tigers, and serpents built from muscle and bloodfire, roaming tribal blood forests.

  Then came the Demi-Races:

  Blood Halstour—towering bovine warriors with glowing sigils across their horns.

  Blood Harpies, their wings soaked in eternal dripping blood, commanding the winds of blood-storms.

  Blood Humanoid Dragons, walking demigods who could shed their skin and become full dragons under blood moons.

  In the frozen outer realms of this yer, Blood Ice Realms loomed—kingdoms ruled by Blood Ice Queens. Each Queen sat upon gciers of frozen red, their subjects—Blood Iceborn Kin—crafted from crystallized clot. Their loyalty was absolute. Their cold was lethal.

  Beneath the branches of enormous trees rooted into the bloodstream of entire pnets, Blood Elves were born.

  From the Blood Tree, every ten years, 10,000 elves emerged—elegant, vicious, timeless.

  From the colossal 600,000 feet Blood World Tree, 5 million were birthed, each with battle-script etched into their bones.

  In mirrored darkness across the realm, Dark Blood Elves spawned from shadowy reflections of their kin:

  The Dark Blood Tree, twisted and silent, birthed elves who mastered hidden arts and war in silence.

  The Dark Blood World Tree produced cunning generals of bloodshadow empires.

  Then the Blood Fme Kin revealed themselves:

  Blood Fme Dragons, coated in fire and molten blood.

  Blood Fme Phoenixes, reborn through the combustion of ancestral memories.

  Blood Fme Minotaurs, horned berserkers who forged battlefields by walking.

  Blood Fme Halstour, votile tacticians of fire and fury.

  Ansu’s breath caught as he scanned deeper.

  He saw towering abominations—Nullity Blood Creatures. Formed from Nullity merged with Blood Matter, these beings defied reason. Their shapes were fragmented nightmares. Looking at them too long could snap the mind in half.

  And then he saw it.

  A Golden Blood Hen—absurdly ordinary by comparison—stepped forward. Then, in one clean peck, it devoured a Nullity Blood Creature whole.

  The realms bent around its presence.

  Ansu, amused and intrigued, approached with respect. He offered:

  2 drops of refined Blood Matter

  1 concentrated Blood Fme

  The Hen nodded… then snapped its beak.

  Reality shifted.

  Ansu’s dominion suddenly expanded—his essence now echoed through every section of the Endless Blood Dimension. Newborn blood dragons whispered his name as they were formed.

  Then came the reward:

  A lower universe, modeled after the 4th Layer, was born in his name.

  Its firstborn cns emerged immediately:

  The Bloom Fme Halstaur Cn

  The Blood Fme Human Cn

  They roared their loyalty into existence.

  The Hen squawked.

  “If you want more, offer more unto me.”

  And then the impossible happened.

  The Hen morphed into a Golden Blood Dragon, majestic and terrible. It soared 500 lightyears, then gently nded in its nest... and turned back into a hen, content.

  Victoria stood silent beside Ansu.

  “That... is a god, isn’t it?” she asked.

  Ansu didn’t answer. He was staring outward.

  Across the Blood Oceans of nearby pnets, titanic serpents rose: the Blood Hydras—massive beasts with infinite heads and no concept of mortality.

  Among them walked Humanoid Blood Hydras, regal, calm, and terrifying in presence. They gazed at the monsters around them, and the monsters bowed.

  “Those are not warriors,” Victoria murmured. “They are kings and queens.”

  Across another pnet, Blood Manticores, both male and female, prowled under the leadership of humanoid manticore lords. They led elite hunting packs, not in savagery, but in precision.

  And beyond them, walls of blood-matter rose—Blood Cyclops stood behind them.

  They lifted entire mountains made of blood, preparing to defend their nds.

  Beside them, younger Cyclops prepared to hurl city-sized boulders, their eyes brimming with pride.

  But not all were warriors.

  Humanoid Blood Cyclops led trade caravans, exchanging blood-crystals, fme artifacts, and memory-cy with neighboring pnets.

  Ansu looked out at the endless tide of creation.

  This wasn’t a yer.

  It was a civilization built on blood, by blood, for blood.

  Ansu flew eastward through the 4th Layer of the Endless Blood Dimension, across a region thick with echoing war cries and glistening consteltions made from arterial starlight.

  He sensed it before he saw it.

  A gaxy—entirely wreathed in darkness and pressure—stood before him. It spun unnaturally slow, not from gravity, but from will. Orbiting it were sentries, towering masses of blood-forged flesh and spirit: the Lesser Unknown Walkers, each cloaked in bck and red halos, flickering like broken timelines.

  As soon as Ansu entered the sector, they detected him.

  Their halos pulsed. Space folded around him like muscle.

  Before he could react, he was dispced—folded back through time and space.

  He reappeared not in battle, but within the lower universe gifted to him by the Golden Blood Hen. His domains—the Blood Fme Halstaur Cn, the Blood Fme Human Cn—continued to thrive in the gaxy around him.

  But his pride was stung.

  He prayed—not with desperation, but with purpose.

  “Golden Blood Hen, I offer two drops of my own blood, sovereign and pure. I offer one seed—imbued with my breath and fire. I seek your favor again.”

  Within moments, she arrived.

  First as a hen. Then, with a shimmer, she fred into her Golden Blood Dragon form before folding back down into her unassuming self.

  She clucked once. Then id an egg of royal heat.

  From it hatched two cns:

  The Blood Medusa Cn—serpent-haired queens who turned flesh to coiled bloodstone with their gaze.

  The Blood Harpies, reborn from screaming red winds.

  Their gaxy formed adjacent to Ansu’s other domains, knitted into the structure of his lower universe.

  Meanwhile, in the gaxy where Ansu had been banished, Victoria arrived.

  Where even Ansu had been cast out, the Lesser Unknown Walkers parted.

  They recognized the divine presence of a different kind—not blood-born, but war-bound. She carried the scent of Valhal, and that meant something to them.

  Inside the sector, she found marvels.

  One gaxy where Blood Harpies soared from veins in the skies.

  Another ruled by Blood Fme Harpies, who cloaked their wings in warfire.

  And at the heart, a six-light-year-tall Blood World Tree. Its bark was pulsing blood. Its sap: deep purple. Its voice: unspoken but felt.

  Each epoch, the tree gave birth to three trillion Blood Elf Angels—elegant, winged hybrids of blood and light, bathed in crimson halos and divine instinct.

  Victoria ascended north, toward a quieter pce, where the sky dimmed and the Dark Blood Elves lived beneath an ancient Dark Blood World Tree.

  She spoke not as a conqueror, but as a missionary of the Eternal War.

  And they listened.

  The tree whispered to Odin—a conversation of roots and gods.

  The pact was formed: Blood and Faith. The Tree of Shadows and the Hall of the Fallen would share their strength, their dominion, and their followers. A co-faith, forged in silence and sealed in blood.

  As the pact was signed, a dim gaxy folded into another—quietly, without notice. Only 1% of the converted Dark Blood Elves sensed it. They looked skyward and saw the Gates of Valhal, open like twin stars, and Valkyries moving between the realms.

  Victoria took her leave.

  She moved slowly—by her standards. Just 800 lightyears in one hour.

  Her destination?

  A lush world of Blood Griffins:

  Crimson, Silver, and Golden-feathered kings of the skies.

  Below, Blood Calydonian Boars thundered across the nd.

  Male and female Blood Centaurs hunted them with strategy and reverence, offering choice boars to the Griffins in ancient rites of protection.

  She watched as Blood Pegasus danced on floating isles, their hooves releasing waves of blessings that made crops grow a hundredfold in a single night.

  A presence approached her quietly—a robed Unknown Blood Walker, tall, faceless, heavy with memory.

  “Titan Nigisus fell here,” he said. “He had 100,000 arms, each the size of a mountain. His body is the size of an pnet. From his blood were born the Griffins. And these creatures.”

  Victoria narrowed her eyes.

  “May I see him?”

  The Blood Walker bowed.

  “His remains still sleep, deep in the pnet’s marrow. But if you are willing to descend... you may witness the bones of the one whose death gave birth to life.”

  And so, Victoria stood at the edge of a myth deeper than blood, staring at the sky as it pulsed with divine memory.

  Ansu, elsewhere, felt a new pulse in his realm—the Hen’s magic still unfolding.

  The 4th Layer of the Endless Blood Dimension had only begun to reveal its secrets.

  And gods were watching.

  Victoria flew northwest into the luminous void, her wings leaving trails of crystalized bloodlight across the dimensional sky. She followed the current of faith, and it brought her to a gaxy wreathed in soft red fme and divine resonance.

  This was a holy pce—one where Divine Envoys thrived.

  Their armor gleamed with golden blood—not simple radiance, but will-bound metal, forged in the image of the Endless Blood Dimension itself. Their swords whispered hymns. Their shields pulsed with the memory of battles never forgotten.

  They stood on floating sanctuaries, and when they saw Victoria descending, they sang.

  “Glory to She Who Births All Red!Mother of Flesh, River of Battle!Endless be Her Veins!Endless be Her Fire!”

  Their voices carried across space.

  Victoria descended to a sacred pnet below.

  There, she saw harmony in chaos—Blood Harpies in graceful flight, Blood Medusas lurking among obsidian spires, their serpents hissing with blood-thought. Blood Fme Harpies darted through heat-ced thermals. And Blood Fme Medusas, cloaked in magma-wreathed veils, stalked prey with divine wrath.

  The pnet was a hunting ground of sacred ritual. The prey?

  An entire ecosystem of Blood Creatures: Blood Rabbits, Blood Horses, Blood Deer, Blood Chickens, Blood Lizards, and more. Each had evolved to survive the predators, forming intricate hierarchies of evasion, mimicry, and defense.

  Victoria scanned them all.

  “7.2 million variants,” she whispered. “Each more complex than the st.”

  Satisfied, she left—ascending once again, her wings stretching like banners.

  She flew south, crossing into a darker sector—a gaxy of ash and ruin, where memory burned.

  Here, blood soaked the foundations of ancient, crumbling cities, their buildings made from blood-soaked ash, standing 3.5 kilometers tall. The sector boiled with war between two races:

  Blood Goblins—feral, cunning, fast-breeding, often unching attacks from burrowed tunnels and fme-ash caves.

  Blood Elves—disciplined, ritualistic, and organized around shrines grown from bloodwood and battle.

  The Blood Goblins often razed the elf vilges. But death was no defeat.

  Each fallen Blood Elf was recimed by the roots of the Blood World Tree.

  In just one day, their souls were reborn as new elves.

  Their old bodies? Transformed by the Tree into Blood Trenants—lumbering, armored tree-beings wielding the memories of their past lives.

  These Trenants marched into war without hesitation. And when they fell, they were not lost.

  Every trillion fallen Trenants triggered a greater birth—a towering construct of power:

  A Trenant World Tree, rising 60,000 feet tall and 20,000 wide, pnted deep into the sector’s heart.

  From this living monument came waves of defenders:

  1,000 Ancestor Blood Trenants, ancient minds grown in new bark.

  10,000 Blood Ancient Trenants, steeped in divine battle tactics.

  100,000 standard Blood Trenants, bark-blooded and relentless.

  The Trenant World Tree fed on the dead of all kinds—elf, goblin, harpy, and more. It grew stronger, and its branches pierced the sky, tching onto neighboring moons like hooks of fate.

  Victoria knelt before it.

  She whispered a prayer—not for conquest, but for remembrance.

  From her hand, Faith Matter poured into the dimension. It wove into the sky like scripture.

  A Book formed—hovering in the air, its pages bnk at first, then inked in living light.

  “This history must be kept,” she said. “This gaxy must be remembered.”

  As she departed, an Unknown Blood Walker crept toward the book, curious. It reached out.

  The moment its finger touched the cover, a divine fme burst forth. The walker recoiled in agony—its hand scorched, not from heat, but from rejection.

  The book only accepted those with divine favor. The faith was too dense to be touched by lesser will.

  Far away, Ansu sensed it.

  The birth of this new Faith Matter—pure, structured, and undevourable. He reached for it… But it refused him.

  Instead of anger, Ansu responded with instinct. He began to create creatures, not for war or glory, but for sustenance.

  Massive blood-grazing beasts. Amphibious blood lizards. Floating blood fungi.

  His cns, recognizing the gesture, began to tithe back, offering their belief, their reverence, their Faith Matter to Ansu himself.

  And for the first time, Ansu did not consume it.

  He held it.

  Studied it.

  Prepared it.

  Because the dimension was changing. Faith was no longer just an outside force—it was being born from within.

  And soon, even blood would learn how to believe.

  After two years traversing the vast, terrifying beauty of the 4th Layer of the Endless Blood Dimension, Victoria rose once again beyond blood-warped gaxies and divine ecosystems. Her blue wings, radiant with tempered fme, cut through the yered skies. Her eyes, like frozen oceans of insight, stared forward with purpose.

  She ascended beyond blood realms, past the Twelve Shields, and entered Valhal—the 4th-dimensional sanctum of the Allfather.

  Valkyries gathered in silence as Victoria entered the Hall of Logs.

  Great walls of light and runes shifted constantly, recording the movements, words, and acts of every divine envoy and fallen faithful. Victoria approached the center.

  There, Odin awaited. His one eye was calm, watchful but never surprised.

  Victoria knelt, and with the utterance of a single sylble, transferred all memory of her journey. Instantly, a new log ignited in light above the great archives.

  The Hall pulsed.

  “A new record has been inscribed,” one Valkyrie whispered.

  A glowing sigil hovered high above the dome—The Book of Blood’s Fourth Breath. Within it, the history of the 4th Layer of the Endless Blood Dimension now unfolded: from the earliest blood goblins and blood elves, to the rise of Blood Fme Kin, to the vast Blood Hydras, Blood Trenant World Trees, and the worshipful harmony formed between the Dark Blood Elves and Valhal.

  The log also tracked a new phenomenon:

  “Faithful Fallen” — those who had died within the blood realms but clung to Odin’s name.

  A gate above Valhal shimmered. These warriors now marched with the Einherjar. They had perished in realms where even death was recycled—but their belief pulled them upward, into Odin’s fold.

  Odin nodded once. That was all.

  Two years ter, Victoria’s wings unfolded once more.

  She flew east, beyond the records, beyond what even Ansu had cimed. She pierced the boundaries of the 4th Layer once again, her descent targeted and solemn.

  She arrived in the Eastern Sector—a wild, primal pce still pulsing with raw myth. She entered a gaxy orbiting a scarlet star, its systems scattered like fangs across a celestial jaw.

  Immediately, she sensed them.

  Blood Cerberus—three-headed warhounds the size of castles, roaming volcanic craters and guarding ancient ruins.

  Blood Hellhounds, sleeker, faster, trailing smoke with every breath.

  Their kin—Blood Humanoid Cerberus and Blood Humanoid Hellhounds—lived among them, warriors with burning cws and triple voices, speaking in yered growls.

  Beneath them, the oceans boiled quietly. And from their depths rose a haunting melody.

  Blood Sirens.

  They moved in red waters—beautiful, terrible, ancient. Their songs didn’t beguile mortals—they bent blood. With enough song, they could clot the ocean or call forth ancient prey from the pnet’s heart.

  Victoria watched as they dove, circled, then vanished into the abyss.

  Further innd, she found wild worlds—Blood Satyrs, horned and agile, living as nomadic tribes. They raised herds of blood deer and hunted serpents woven from sinew and bloodroot. They offered no welcome, but neither did they resist.

  Victoria traveled deeper.

  There, on a blood pne where even gravity wavered, she found beings that had almost vanished from myth:

  Blood Spartoi—skeletal warriors formed not from bone, but tightly-bound blood strands. Their armor grew from their bodies, and they fought not for gods but for memory.

  Blood Ladons—serpent-dragons with seven heads, guarding invisible altars in the middle of the emptiest pce Victoria had ever seen.

  It was a pne of nothingness, silent, ft, undisturbed.

  But her divine sight noticed something.

  At first, it was dust. Then movement.

  Tiny blood matter, almost unformed, flickered in her vision—like sparks of something trying to become real.

  She nded.

  Knelt.

  Watched.

  The pne was awakening. Not violently. Not loudly. But it was preparing to become.

  “Another genesis is beginning,” she whispered.

  She marked the pne’s coordinates into the Book of Blood’s Fourth Breath, knowing it would be logged above Valhal once she returned.

  But she didn’t rise.

  She stayed to watch.

  Because something was about to happen.

  Victoria stood in stillness, her blue wings folded behind her, the weight of countless lifetimes resting on her shoulders.

  The blood pne before her, once empty and whispering with barely formed matter, began to shudder. Time stretched. Space curled in on itself. Her divine eyes, trained to see the first fme, witnessed the impossible forming again.

  A soundless roar ripped across the firmament.

  A Big Bang.

  But not like the one that birthed the known universe. This one bloomed within blood, of blood, and for blood.

  From the crack in the void surged a new universe, blooming outward with pulsating nebue of arterial light and bck-red gravity wells. Gaxies spiraled into pce, each containing pnets thick with crimson soil and blood-wrought seas.

  This was no accident.

  This was a blood-willed birth, accepted into the Fourth Layer of the Endless Blood Dimension by the Endless Dimensional Will itself.

  And it wasted no time becoming poputed.

  From the stars, mountains, and warped ground came new races—instinctual and already moving by divine pattern:

  Blood Imps: Small, vicious, ever-multiplying creatures that chewed through blood-soaked stone and stitched themselves into hive-like empires.

  Blood Behemoths: Towering titans with exposed veins and thunderous steps, guardians of the blood pins and natural living sieges.

  Blood Basilisks: Coiling, many-eyed serpents whose gaze boiled the blood of anything unworthy, leaving only iron-strong husks.

  Blood Bicorns: Twin-horned beasts with glowing hooves that could shift into humanoid warriors wielding blood swords, forged from their spilt psma.

  Blood Unicorns: Purified and wild, these raced across the upper stratosphere of their worlds, their horns tuning to the Will’s frequency and calling other beasts to battle.

  Blood Bck Harpies: Silent as shadow, violent as instinct, they ruled the wind-tides and feasted on memory-ced blood of ancient beasts.

  Blood Priests: Cursed prophets cd in robes that bled from within, their voices echoed across time, summoning flocks and followers through whispered rites.

  From the earliest forests grew Normal Blood Trees, and from them, the next life began.

  Blood Dryads were born—spirit-women of the Blood Trees, tied to the roots and leaves, protectors of the memory woven into bark and limb. They sang to the moons, and the trees moved to protect them.

  But this realm, like all blood-born realities, had its death rituals—and its exceptions.

  Dead Blood Elves, when left uncollected for two weeks, did not fade or rot.

  They changed.

  They rose as Blood Dulluans—undead elves with detachable heads, which floated beside their bodies as spectral observers. They mounted Blood Bicorns and rode across the realms, keeping order, enacting punishment, or fulfilling forgotten oaths.

  These Blood Bicorns, when commanded, stood up on two legs and transformed into humanoid warriors with jagged horns and liquid steel in their veins.

  Across every gaxy in this blood-born universe, these rituals are repeated, unique to the culture but unified in function. Creation. Cycle. Rebirth.

  Yet even this universe was not invincible.

  Victoria turned her gaze toward the center, where a Blood Bck Hole had formed. It spun like a hungry god, not out of entropy but divine function.

  Entire gaxies, once fully lived-in, were dragged into the event horizon—reduced to pure blood-light and memory. These weren’t destroyed.

  They were reabsorbed.

  The Endless Dimensional Will, watching from behind its veils, welcomed the return of its matter and memory.

  “Nothing wasted,” Victoria whispered. “Only recycled. Blood never dies—it remembers.”

  She marked the event in her records, assigning it a pce within the Book of the Fourth Breath now suspended in Valhal’s upper skies.

  This new universe was now part of the eternal cycle—alive, looping, and growing.

  And somewhere, deep within that bck hole, the first soul of this reality whispered its name.

  In the far outer spiral of a crimson gaxy, 3000 light-years from the core of the newly birthed blood universe, space bent unnaturally.

  A thin red tear opened.

  From it stepped a lone figure: headless, armored in blood-wrought pte, riding a glowing Blood Bicorn. Hovering just above their shoulder was a floating head, cloaked in bck fire—its expression unreadable, but its gaze all-seeing.

  A Blood Dulhann had arrived.

  They spoke no words.

  Instead, they stared into the soul of a trembling Blood Native, who had recently sughtered another for personal gain in defiance of dimensional w. No tribal war, no defense, no sacred justification. Just selfish murder.

  The Dulluhan tilted their floating head. A deep pulse passed between them and the native—a scan of karmic weight. The native fell to their knees, shivering not from guilt, but from the pressure of what stood before them.

  The Dulluhan raised a hand.

  The murderer vanished.

  In the blink of an eye, he was no longer in this realm.

  He was now in the Abyss Between Life and Death.

  An endless prison dimension buried deep beneath the spiritual threads of the Endless Blood Dimension—a realm not of fme or torment, but perpetual suspended pain. Souls here existed half-formed, unable to die, unable to heal, reliving their sins without forgetfulness.

  These were not common sinners.

  These were Endless Dimensional Criminals—beings who vioted the sacred bance, broke the blood ws, twisted realms, or betrayed their kind to Chaos Gods.

  Here, murder without cosmic purpose was a sin unredeemed.

  The Dulluhan did not remain. Their duty was not to guard. It was to deliver.

  They returned to their home.

  A quiet region in a calm pnetary system—trees of blood gss, a sky of wine-red mist, and shrines to the Endless Will.

  But the Dulluhan was restless.

  Their soul pulsed.

  They had completed many collections. Their power grew with every soul retrieved, but now they required something else: connection.

  They traveled through tribal cities and ascendant shrines, studying the blood males of their kind—warriors, priests, hunters. Intelligent, cunning, divine-adjacent.

  This Dulluhan—despite cking a head on their body—spoke through the mind and made contact. They ughed. Courted. Shared. They chose one.

  And in a ceremony of blood and vow, they married—not out of sentimentality, but as part of the sacred rite of power-sharing.

  During the union, the Dulluhan took in a drop of their partner's blood essence. It spiraled into their armor like ink into silk.

  You are no longer a hunter only, they thought. You are a root in the tree of w.

  They grew stronger—not just in ability, but in crity of judgment.

  Elsewhere, another Blood Dulluhan had begun following Victoria.

  Unlike the others, this one had a second task: collecting only the worst of the worst, those whose crimes were so abhorrent they corrupted blood itself.

  These souls hid in cracks between gaxies. They wore masks. They lived under assumed identities. Some didn't know they were even alive anymore.

  The Dulluhan needed more than w to find them.

  They needed life essence.

  And so, in brief, concealed rites, they fed—drawing small strands of essence from beasts, criminals, or sacred beings. Not for hunger. Not for desire.

  But for fuel.

  Fuel to dive into deeper soul shadows, to rip away the facades and drag the absolute worst into the prison abyss.

  They were executioners, yes.

  But they were also cleansers of dimensional corruption.

  Victoria turned once to regard the silent rider following her.

  “You still breathe?” she asked.

  The floating head nodded. “Only when justice holds its breath.”

  Victoria smiled faintly, then turned to fly on.

  And the Dulluhan followed—head hovering, soul-burning, duty unshaken.