Dean's expression grew distant, as if peering through millions of years of memory.
"Back then, I was caught up in that pointless war," he said quietly. "I'm not entirely sure what started it, but one thing I know for certain—the gods wanted that war to happen."
At first, Osa became exited but frowned. " So the legends are true? Dean did you know that it was said that during the ancient times, there were humans that can carry planets, split stars and shake solar systems?" Wait the gods caused the war? Why would they—"
"Because of the demigods," Dean interrupted. "You see, millions of years ago, there were many demigods walking among mortals. Beings who weren't true gods, but possessed the power to challenge them—even kill them."
He paused, his transparent form flickering slightly.
"Just like the legend you've heard. Those are demigods and they were a constant headache for the gods. So they engineered a war. A culling."
Osa's breath caught, this is a rare information that probably less than ten people knew about.
So in short the Ancient War—the one that had wiped out 90% of humanity's strongest beings —had been orchestrated by the gods themselves?
Dean continued, his voice tinged with bitterness. "I survived that great calamity, but not without cost. My soul was already wounded when I was forcibly dragged into this universe. I arrived with barely 40% of my original power."
His eyes hardened. "If I had come here in perfect condition, I could have conquered this entire universe by myself. Instead, I was hunted down by a pack of weak gods like some common beast."
Dean's fists clenched, even though they were translucent. "If I ever manage to create a new body, the first thing I'll do is kill that bastard God of Space."
Osa stared at him, trying to process everything. "So you actually fought in that war? The one from millions of years ago?"
"Of course I did." Dean answered in a matter of fact tone.
"How are you still here if you are already millions of years old? Osa asked with a raised eyebrow. Then he hesitated before asking again. "Do you know about Quinn Cheng? The strongest human in recorded history?"
Dean's expression shifted—something between amusement and sadness. "Who doesn't know Quinn Cheng, the pride of humanity?" he echoed mockingly. "Tell me, boy—where is he now?"
Osa recited what every child learned in school. "Legend says he went into seclusion at the center of the universe, waiting for a gifted human to inherit his legacy."
"And what do the leaders of the human race say about that?"
"How should I know?" Osa said, irritation creeping into his voice. "I'm just a street sweeper."
Dean smiled sadly. "Then let me tell you the truth. Quinn Cheng is dead."
Osa's nearly heart stopped. "What?" He shouted
"After the Great War, his soul was severely damaged," Dean explained. "I even helped him sever his body from his soul to speed up his recovery. But that left him defenseless. Even the weakest god could have killed him in that state."
Osa's mind reeled. "If he's dead, then who—or what—is at the center of the universe?"
Dean's smile turned cold. "A trap. A vicious, infectious scheme by the gods. They're using Cheng's so-called 'inheritance' to lure talented humans and other races from across the universe—and slaughter them before they can become new demigods."
"What?!" Osa's voice rose in horror. "You're saying all those geniuses who went searching for his legacy—they're all dead?"
"Most likely, yes."
Osa felt sick. All those heroes—gone. Murdered in a divine conspiracy.
"What even started the war in the first place?" Osa asked weakly again.
Dean shrugged. "Like I said, I'm not sure. I just found myself caught up in it."
Then, a heavy silence fell between them.
Finally, Dean's expression shifted—became more serious.
"Now," he said, "it's time for you to understand what you truly are."
Osa's pulse quickened. "What I am? I'm... a human. And now, I suppose, a hybrid?"
Dean laughed—a sharp, bitter sound. "A hybrid? Who told you that?"
Osa blinked, confused. "But I can see like a hybrid. Heal like one. My senses—"
"Let me tell you something, boy," Dean said, his voice dropping. "At my peak, even Quinn Cheng wasn't my opponent. In my weakest state, it took multiple Primordial Gods and celestials working together to bring me down."
He leaned closer, his ghostly face inches from Osa's.
"So tell me—do you really think you're just some ordinary hybrid?"
Osa's throat went dry. "Then... what am I?"
Dean smiled.
"You're a vampire."
The word hung in the air like a blade.
"Not just any vampire," Dean continued. "You're a Blood Vampire—one of the most powerful vampire species in existence."
Osa stumbled backward. "A... a vampire? Not a hybrid?"
"No. You're far beyond that."
Osa's mind spun. Vampires were myths. Legends. Stories told to scare children. They weren't real.
But Dean was standing right in front of him. A ghost from millions of years ago. And the ring on his forehead just killed two men and knocked out a woman with blood-red tentacles.
Maybe myths weren't so mythical after all.
"One of our greatest strengths," Dean said, "is our physical power. Only the dragon race surpasses us in raw strength. Even the werewolf race is only marginally more durable."
Osa's excitement began to return. "So aside from dragons, Blood Vampires are the strongest?"
"In terms of physical prowess, yes."
"But are we stronger than hybrids?"
Dean's smile widened. "Comparing Blood Vampires to hybrids is like comparing hybrids to ordinary humans. There may be exceptional hybrids out there with rare talents, but they are not our equals."
Osa's heart pounded. "So being a Blood Vampire really does make me stronger than most hybrids?"
"Without question."
"Then how do I transform?" Osa asked eagerly. "Into my vampire form?"
Dean's expression turned deadly serious.
"Listen carefully," he said. "Do NOT transform into your Blood Vampire form unless absolutely necessary—and only when you're certain of victory."
Osa frowned. "Why?"
"Because transforming increases your strength exponentially, depending on the density and purity of your bloodline—what humans call 'talent.' The higher your talent, the greater the boost."
He paused.
"But there's a cost. When you transform, you become a killing machine. You may not be able to distinguish between allies and enemies. You could slaughter everyone around you—friend or foe."
Osa's excitement died instantly. "Then what's the point? If I can't control it, I might as well not have this power at all!"
"Calm down," Dean said. "Even I, at my peak, could only manage partial transformations. Full transformation was beyond me."
"Why?"
Dean's voice dropped. "Because we're cursed. The Blood Vampire race was cursed by the Desolate itself. If not for that curse, even with just 40% of my power and a full transformation, I could have swept this entire universe clean."
Osa stared at him, feeling the weight of that revelation settle over him like a shroud.
He was a Blood Vampire.
One of the most powerful beings in existence.
And also one of the most dangerous—to everyone, including himself.
Just imagining himself transforming in the orphanage was enough to send shivers down his spine.