Vampire Progenitor System-Chapter 100: Remu’s Death 2

The battlefield was gone.

The blood.

The broken sky.

The silence.

All of it faded as Greta pressed her forehead against her daughter’s.

And just like that—

She was somewhere else.

Flashback

A warm spring light spilled through the windows of a small cottage deep in the forest, tucked behind cliffs and twisted trees. Inside, the scent of woodsmoke and herbs danced through the air.

There, on the floor, Remu was spinning.

Not like now. Not like the fire-eyed witch feared by nations.

Just a little girl.

Barefoot.

Laughing.

Her black hair whipped behind her as she turned again and again in circles, arms out like wings. Her dress was too long, dragging behind her like a clumsy cape.

"Look, Mama!" she shouted. "I’m a storm!"

Greta laughed, kneeling by the hearth, her sleeves rolled up as she stirred something in the cauldron. "You’ll be a dizzy storm in five seconds."

"Then I’ll be chaos!" Remu cried, spinning faster.

She toppled over, landed in a heap of blankets and pillows, giggling like mad.

Greta walked over and scooped her up, pressing a kiss to her forehead. "You’re already chaos."

Remu looked up, her eyes bright and wide.

"Will you teach me magic today?"

Greta raised an eyebrow. "Did you memorize the spell from yesterday?"

Remu puffed her cheeks. "Maybe..."

Greta grinned. "Then maybe we’ll start with floating leaves. Not fireballs."

"Fire’s cooler."

Greta leaned in. "Fire’s dangerous."

Remu leaned back with a mock gasp. "So am I."

Greta booped her nose. "Not yet you aren’t."

Another memory. A few years older.

Rain poured outside, drumming on the windows like a thousand fingers.

Remu sat at the kitchen table, legs swinging, chin in her hands, glaring at a glowing spellbook in front of her. Runes floated lazily above the page.

"It doesn’t make sense," she muttered. "Why does light bend around shadow like that? It’s just stupid."

Greta was at the sink, hands deep in dishes, sleeves rolled again.

"Because shadow’s older than light, sweetheart. It knows how to move first."

Remu squinted. "That’s not in the book."

"It should be."

Remu stared at the runes again, then whispered something under her breath.

One of the symbols lit up. Shifted.

A small gasp escaped her lips.

"I did it..."

Greta turned with a soft smile. "Yes, you did."

Another.

They sat on the roof of the cottage.

Stars stretched overhead, wide and cold.

Remu was twelve now, arms wrapped around her knees, head leaning on Greta’s shoulder.

She was quiet.

Greta watched the stars.

"You’re going to be something dangerous one day," she whispered.

Remu didn’t move. "Is that good?"

Greta exhaled. "Depends on who you decide to protect."

Remu was silent a moment.

Then: "Can I protect you?"

Greta smiled.

"You already do."

Back in the present—

Greta’s breath hitched.

She opened her eyes.

She was back in the crater. Blood on her hands. Rubble all around. The warmth of spring long gone.

But the girl in her arms was still Remu.

No matter what the world said.

No matter the spells.

No matter the fire and madness in her eyes.

She was still hers.

And Greta refused to let go.

She shifted, lifting Remu’s head carefully into her lap. Magic hummed under her fingers as she sealed what wounds she could—slow, gentle.

Tears slipped down her cheeks, leaving tracks in the dust.

"You were never meant to end up like this."

Remu stirred faintly. Her lips moved. No sound came out. But her eyes—barely open—shifted toward her mother’s face.

Greta smiled through the pain.

"I remember the girl who wanted to be chaos," she whispered. "The one who could make shadows dance just to see if I’d laugh."

She leaned down, brushed Remu’s hair back.

"You don’t have to fight anymore."

Remu blinked once.

And then—

A flicker of something.

Not magic.

Not madness.

Just... recognition.

Greta nodded.

Remu’s lips moved again—this time with effort.

Dry. Cracked. Barely a whisper.

But Greta leaned in, catching it.

"...you always were too soft," Remu said.

Greta froze. Her heart sank.

Remu’s red eyes opened slightly—dim, flickering, but still sharp.

"You never understood," she continued, voice raspy, breath ragged. "This world... it doesn’t want people like me. It fears us. Buries us. Until we dig our way back up with blood on our hands."

Greta shook her head slowly. "You had choices."

"I made mine," Remu breathed. "And I’d make them again."

Her voice was so calm. No regret. No guilt. Just truth.

Greta gripped her hand tighter. "Even if it ends everything?"

Remu’s lips twitched—not quite a smile. Not quite a sneer.

"It’s already ending, Mama. I’m just the match."

Greta’s hands glowed, magic stitching what it could, but the damage was too deep. Too much burned. Too much shattered inside her.

"You don’t have to be this," Greta whispered. "You don’t have to finish it."

Remu turned her head slightly, eyes now gazing up into the dark, broken sky.

"Yes, I do."

And then—

Her fingers twitched.

Once.

Twice.

Then they curled inward, blood-slick and trembling, and traced a circle in the dirt beside her. Her breath caught, ragged and shallow, but her lips moved with perfect clarity.

"Esha kor-nath... Vas-nel tora..."

Greta’s eyes widened. "Remu—no."

The sigil ignited.

Not in red.

But in void.

A violet-black light surged upward like a spear through the clouds. The rune pulsed, burned, and then cracked wide like a mirror shattering into the sky.

Above them—the rift flared.

The old seal—slammed shut by spells made by Greta—split open like rotten wood.

Wind howled.

The sky screamed.

And something began to crawl through.

The Fog.

It rolled in slow and deliberate, swallowing color. Swallowing light. And in the middle of it—shapes.

Tall. Crooked. Wrong.

The Fogwalkers.

Not illusions. Not whispers.uuu

Real.

Dozens of them. Slithering. Standing. Crawling sideways across the fabric of reality itself. Their limbs moved like nightmares forgotten too long. Their eyes gleamed with memories not theirs.

The earth shook beneath their presence. Magic wailed.

And Remu—

She looked up at it all, her body limp now in Greta’s arms, blood dripping from her lips.

But she was smiling.

Not wide. Not cruel.

Just content.

"Now you’ll see," she whispered. "Now everyone will see..."

Greta held her tighter. "Stop. Please—just stop."

But Remu was done.

Her eyes fluttered. Her chest rose one last time—

Then didn’t.

Greta froze.

The magic in her hands dimmed.

Remu was still.

Gone.

But above them—

The rift was alive.

And the Fogwalkers?

They had arrived.