[Name:- Lucien Bloodborne]

…I am transmigrated!? My eyes widened slightly. I suspected it due to the body, and my situation—but confirmation was still a bit disappointing. My name was good old Mark… never something this badass.

Like, it would’ve been better if I was starting as a newborn like in those novels—slowly, naturally building relationships with my family, a cute green-haired elf as a childhood friend, and all, instead of just inheriting it (if he has them in the first place). Or, what if I received memories of this guy and completely lost my original self? There were just too many variables from what I knew of transmigration.

I shook my head and reminded myself of my previous words, then hastily scanned through the rest of the information—

[Race: ???]

[Title: XXX]

[Level: 1. XP 0/600]

[Primary Class: Slave]

[Echoes Binded: 0]

[Primordial Trials engaged: 0]

[Vitality: 4/80] 

[Endurance: 2/20] 

[Strength: 5/12]

[Agility: 1/10] 

[Dexterity: 3/10] 

[Intelligence: 15/20] 

[Arcane: XXX] 

[Charisma: 8/25] 

[Useable points: 0] 

[Skills: Blood for Blood lvl 1]
[Description: Allows the user to restore all stats by drinking blood of other living creatures.]
[2. Eye of Sanguine lvl 1]
[Description: Gives thermal, night, binocular, and X-ray vision to the user, but could destroy normal retina networks if used for too long at this level, causing permanent blindness.]

“You do realize that question marks at the race part don’t mean anything now, right?” I asked with narrowed eyes, only to be completely ignored.

After that Blood for Blood skill, it was obvious what race I was. I had read too many web novels to not be sure…

Well whatever, at least the poor thing is trying.

But more importantly… Why are my stats like this?!

The dots weren’t too hard to connect.

I am a slave. I was beaten, and injured to a critical condition. Then, I haven’t been fed—at least not blood—or I would’ve healed according to the skill, and my stats would be better.

…Truly, what an amazing start.

I moved my neck around to find anything. I couldn’t see anything. Just heavy darkness, like before.

Conviniently enough, I have a skill that solves just that.

I closed my eyes, searching for the ways to use this skill. The system didn’t seem to have any intentions to tell me how.

No, maybe I don’t need any help. I would definitely have muscle memories of the original body if I inherited the body, replacing the mind, and consciousness.

As I closed my eyes, my brain automatically seemed to register the intention of using the skill, and sent a signal through my body.

I unconsciously started taking deep breaths.

Four seconds inhale. Four seconds hold. Four seconds exhale.

I repeated this action five times until I could feel blood from my body hastily traveling through my nerves—slowly filling the part of my head where my eyes were, leaving my body below pale, and slightly weaker.

It felt warm, and I naturally knew a single misstep could result in my head exploding.

But, for some reason I didn’t feel any panic, or fear, as if I had done this thousands of times.

I slowly guided my blood to my eyes. My pupils, and the area that should be white was all dark red.

I could feel tears of warm blood running down my cheek as I opened my eyes wide in an instant.

It was red. Deep, dark red.

That was the first thing I noticed.

Like how in RPGs when the character goes into rage mode, or low health bar.

Suddenly, as I started to comprehend the sight, a deep chill ran down my spine.

A long dining table, the table surface filled with four-foot long katana-like swords, but thicker. Each of them separated with just a single inch of gap, all covered in crimson liquid that edged the thirst in me, and also gave a familiar vibe which I couldn’t understand.

At first I thought it was due to my vision that the katanas were that red. But on another look…… This was definitely blood. Blood of someone I know, or me at that...

‘Shouldn’t I be attracted to the smell of blood? Why am I feeling this much thirst only after watching it?’

I looked around only to find even more torture devices. A seven-foot tall standing coffin opened fully.

It was also filled with more than a hundred foot-long sharp spikes, each of them covered with thick blood—as if recently used to its full potential.

One thing was apparent.

I was being tortured regularly. The injuries on my body were too serious for them to just be a master beating his slave.

…Someone was intentionally trying to cause me as much pain as possible. I was constantly recovering from it, that’s why my stats went down and down.

Suddenly, my face turned pale white as I saw something that shouldn’t be in a room like this.

A woman.

The most beautiful I had seen in both lives at that.

She had snow white hair that reached to her lower body’s perfect curve—some strands sticking to her forehead, and face due to sweat, and… blood.

The tingling in my throat increased significantly.

Even with my dry tongue, and a throat that I felt like scratching till nothing was left of it, and body that was itching like bit by s thousand ants, I could still control the urge to become an animal and rush towards her.

Her pale skin was covered with a torn white gown, the pure colour of her skin and gown overwhelmed with dried mud, and even more blood.

Due to the clothing’s condition, her long white legs were fully revealed under just half her thigh.

My breath grew shaky. My mind raced with a million different feelings, but the most apparent was… hate.

Someone had brutally tortured her, like me. But, even when I learned of my situation, I didn’t feel this much hate.
I can’t describe the level of hate I am feeling for the people behind this, it’s unnatural, she is a complete stranger, but I want to tear the flesh of anyone who hurted her bit by bit, pull out their lungs, kill all their loved ones infront of them, break them, it was the rawest form of primitive hate that one just couldn’t describe, no matter what.

‘Is this because of the original body’s owner?’

I quickly tried to make sense of it, but nothing made sense. I haven’t gotten any of the man’s memories after all.

But… what about muscle memories? Yes, that had to be it!

Even with all this pain, I could still think straight, strategize, and observe. The original me was scared of injections… There’s no other way to explain my calmness, I should be crying in pain. I was just a modern twenty-one year old, who even at his worst, had an AC, or heater with a comfy bed with him.

And, for some absurd reason, my body stirred with an emotion that would’ve gotten me labeled a creep back in my old world—an irrational sense that she was something that belonged to me, from her blood to her entire body.

It just felt like she was my possession… She was mine.

‘No, no, I swear I am not a pervert. She’s just a stranger, I don’t even know her name. I should focus on escaping first, then maybe I can talk to her and learn more about this feeling.’

My attention went back to the cuffs and chains around my hands and ankles. ‘Hmm, these cuffs are a bit loose, very old probably.’

As I focused more on the cuffs at my hand with the [Eye of Sanguine], I could see the different levels of colours in the thick cuff with my microscopic vision that was like zooming in on a point—the three-inch deep surface was completely brown, the second light brown, and the third greyish with hints of brown.

My eyes lit up, and with a mad grin, I shoved my back on the wooden cross I was tied on.

I recoiled as the cold wall touched my lower waist, but quickly pushed with even more effort. Now I could sense the cold feeling on my back and hands too.

The plan was simple, I would use the bricked wall to hold the cuff in between the gaps as I pulled my hand out of it, and if it was too tight, I would keep rubbing it from the inside towards the bricked wall horizontally. Eventually it will loosen enough to pull my hand out with force.

I immediately got into action, and put the edge of the cuff inside the gap between two bricks and tried to yank my hand out.

…

After a few minutes of pure agony of rubbing my bleeding wrists on rusty metal and dusty walls, the area below my thumb, and knuckles was out, covered in deep red marks, blood and musky sweat.

Midway, I started to do both the grinding and pulling out—the chain’s still getting thinner while my right hand is coming out bit by bit. Yes, I started to focus on getting my dominant hand out first as doing it for both hands was going to take more than a while.

As they say, multitasking is for arrogant fools.

After a few more boring minutes of the repetitive action, my hand was finally free.

The fingers hurted like hell, wobbly and numb with low bloodflow, but just as my conscience noticed it, my blood hastily flowed down and filled my right hand with life.

I could finally clench my fingers into a fist. Which, wasting no time, I smashed it into the other cuff with everything I had.

It didn’t budge at all. But the fingers who were just getting better screamed with sharp pain.

Hmm maybe…

I thought of something else as it would be too much of a time waste to do the same rubbing, and yanking thing again.

I slightly twisted my waist and with a fast movement of my right hand, I struck the wooden cross holding me to where my arm was cuffed to.

I wasn’t tied to the wooden cross, it was just used to stretch my limbs, and tied just them, so with one hand free, it was possible to perform this action.

It shattered in tens of pieces as my other hand gained some freedom too. It was still tightly cuffed to the wooden stake behind it.

Now the only problem was the chain attached to the cuff—Which was attached to the solid brick wall behind…

Tap! Tap! Tap!

My back went cold at the sound of echoing footsteps ringing deep in my ears.

Someone, two people, were coming here.