Chapter 163: The Crimson Tide [4]
Alaric jolted upright.
His shirt clung to his chest and back, soaked through with cold sweat.
Hair stuck to his forehead in damp strands.
The world spun around him as he tried to focus. Walls tilting, floor wavering beneath him.
He gripped the edge of his mattress, trying to anchor himself.
"Haa... Haa..."
His vision blurred at the edges. Everything felt wrong. Disoriented. Like he’d been spinning in circles and just stopped.
"How..." His voice came out rough, barely a whisper. "Why is this happening?"
The dizziness worsened.
Room tilted harder. He squeezed his eyes shut, but that made it worse, the darkness behind his eyelids filled with afterimages. The throne room. The red sky. The blood rising past his knees. The woman’s face, twisted with rage and grief.
"Why did you do it?"
Then suddenly sharp pain shot through his skull.
Alaric’s hands shot to his head, fingers digging into his temples.
"Argh!" He groaned, the pain was white-hot, splitting his head from the inside.
"System," he thought desperately. "System, what’s happening?"
But nothing happened.
No blue panel. No response. Just silence and pain.
The agony intensified. He doubled over, still sitting on the bed, forehead nearly touching his knees.
Then the images came flooding back.
The darkness. The chains. The woman reaching for him...
The battlefield. Bodies piled high. The red moon pulsing...
And then something new—
A figure in crimson armor, gold plates gleaming even in dim light. Standing over him. Face hidden behind a helmet with a demon’s snarl carved into the metal.
Then it spoke, in a cold, otherworldly voice.
"That’s your end..."
He pulled out a dagger and stabbed...
"Brandon."
Alaric’s eyes snapped open.
He lurched off the bed, legs unsteady. His knee buckled and he caught himself on the bedpost. He stumbled toward the washbasin. Each step felt like walking on a ship’s deck during a storm. The floor wouldn’t stay level.
He reached the basin and gripped its edges with both hands. Stared down at the water’s surface.
His reflection stared back at him.
Then his eyes widened.
His crimson eyes... they were glowing. Actually glowing. Faint but unmistakable, like embers in darkness.
What’s happening to me?
He thought at his reflection.
And the dreams. They were getting worse. More vivid. To the point where they didn’t even felt like dreams.
And that name.
Brandon.
The armored figure had called him Brandon.
But that wasn’t—he wasn’t—
Another spike of pain shot through his brain.
Alaric hissed through his teeth and splashed water on his face. The cold shocked his system, helped clear some of the fog. His reflection rippled and broke apart in the disturbed water.
Then a sound from across the room made him freeze.
"No... don’t..."
Oliver mumbled something else, words slurred and indistinct. His arm flopped over the side of his bed, then pulled back under the blanket.
Alaric turned, muscles tensed. But Oliver was just sleeping. Probably dreaming about failing an exam or getting yelled at by a professor.
He turned back to the basin. Stared at his reflection as it settled.
The glow in his eyes had faded. Back to normal crimson. Like it had never been there at all.
Had he imagined it?
He straightened slowly, water dripping from his chin. His hands shook when he reached for the towel.
These dreams. What are they?
Memories? Visions? Some side effect of his awakening?
Or something else entirely?
The system stayed silent. Useless.
Alaric dried his face and forced himself to breathe steadily.
Then the dizziness slammed back into him.
Harder this time. The room spun violently. He dropped the towel and grabbed the edge of the basin to keep from falling.
His eyes glowed. Heat building behind his pupils.
The fuck!
Pain exploded through his skull. He groaned as his both hands shoot to his head. His fingers dug into his scalp hard enough that his nails broke skin.
The room tilted sideways. He stumbled, shoulder hitting the wall. His breathing came in harsh, ragged gasps that burned his throat.
Something was wrong. Very wrong.
His vision swam. The darkness of the room seemed to pulse with each heartbeat. And through it all, he could see Oliver’s sleeping form across the room.
Vulnerable. Unaware. Throat exposed above the blanket.
Something inside Alaric shifted. Like a chain stretching to its breaking point.
His mouth felt wrong. Teeth aching. Jaw clenching. An urge rising from somewhere deep and primal that whispered—
[...H-Hos-...]
The cyan panel flickered into existence. Distorted. Letters scrambling and reforming.
[H...Host...]
Then it stabilized.
[WARNING: Essence instability detected]
[Host must isolate immediately]
[Recommendation: Distance from all living targets - minimum 50 meters]
[Failure to comply may result in involuntary hostile action]
Alaric’s eyes widened. His gaze snapped back to Oliver.
Still sleeping. Still breathing quietly. Still completely defenseless.
The hunger—no, not hunger, something else—pulsed harder.
No. No no no....
He gripped his head harder, nails digging deeper. Blood trickled down past his temples. His whole body trembled with the effort of staying still.
[HOST. LEAVE. NOW.]
The system’s text flashed red.
Alaric forced himself to move. Stumbled toward the door. Each step felt like pushing through mud. His legs didn’t want to cooperate. Something in him wanted to turn around, wanted to—
He grabbed the door handle. Twisted. Then pulled it open.
The corridor outside was dark and empty.
He limped through, pulling the door closed behind him as quietly as his shaking hands could manage.
Then he sagged against the wall, breathing hard. Sweat dripped down his face, mixing with the blood from where his nails had broken skin.
His eyes still burned. Still glowed. He could see it reflecting faintly in the polished stone across the corridor.
[Host status: Unstable]
[Recommended action: Find isolated location immediately]
Alaric pushed off the wall. Forced his legs to move. One foot in front of the other down the empty corridor.
The dormitory halls stretched ahead. His footsteps echoed too loud in the silence. Each breath came harsh and ragged.
Left turn. Down the stairs. His hand gripped the railing so hard the wood creaked under his fingers.
The sound of footsteps echoed ahead.
Alaric froze mid-step. The guards were making rounds.
The footsteps grew louder, coming closer.
He turned and saw an alcove to his right—narrow space where a statue stood.
Alaric threw himself into it, pressing his back against cold stone. His chest heaved.
The guard’s footsteps reached the stairwell. Then paused.
Don’t look. Don’t look. Keep walking.
Then the footsteps resumed. Then guards hummed something under their breath and began moving back.
The sound faded down the corridor.
Alaric waited. Then pushed out of the alcove and kept moving.
Down another hallway. This one older was less used. Dust collected in the corners.
Then more footsteps echoed, but from different direction.
Shit.
Alaric’s eyes darted to the doors lining the hallway. He lunged for the first one. Grabbed the handle. Twisted.
Locked.
The voices were getting closer. Light from their lantern began to paint the far wall.
Second door. His hand closed around the handle. Pulled.
It opened.
The footsteps were getting closer. Their conversation drifting through the hall.
"Told you, she’s not interested."
"You don’t know that. I haven’t even asked her yet, so how would you know?"
Alaric moved to the next door. Twisted the handle.
And it opened.
He slipped inside and shut it. He pressed himself against the door.
Footsteps passed right outside. So close he could hear their boots scuffing against the floor.
"Just saying, maybe aim lower. Like someone in your own league."
"Oh fuck off, that’s not—"
Their voices trailed away down the corridor.
Silence settled back in.
Alaric stayed frozen against the door for another long moment. Then his legs gave out.
He slid down the wood until he hit the floor. Sat there with his back pressed to the door, head tilted back, staring up at nothing.
His hands trembled. The burning in his eyes hadn’t stopped. If anything, it was getting worse.
He forced himself to look around the room.
It was small. Dark except for moonlight filtering through gaps in the closed shutters. Desks piled against one wall, covered in dust sheets that looked like they hadn’t been moved in months. Maybe years.
An abandoned classroom.
Alaric crawled away from the door. His arms shook with the effort. He made it to the far corner and collapsed there, back hitting the wall hard enough to hurt.
His hands immediately went to his head. Gripped hard. Nails digging into his scalp again.
The pain in his skull was unbearable now. Like something with claws was trying to carve its way out from the inside.
His eyes squeezed shut.
[Warning!]
[Host advised to—]
"Shut up," Alaric gasped. "Just... shut up."
The system wasn’t responding to him, it just kept displaying warnings he couldn’t do anything about.
His whole body shook. Sweat and blood dripped down his face. His jaw ached from clenching so hard.
What’s happening to me? What the hell is happening?