Amamiya Rin pressed his fingers against the bridge of his nose. He didn't respond to Flesh-Mod Tomie or Armaments Tomie right away.
His head was too heavy. A thick, leaden weight that made coherent thought impossible.
In that case — whatever needed thinking about could wait until the Dream World.
And so, Amamiya Rin closed his eyes.
When he opened them again, the air was thick with the mingled smell of sweat and leather, and the dull, rhythmic thud of strikes filled his ears.
He turned his head. Not far away was a sparring ring, two boxers working combinations against each other. Heavy bags of varying weights hung around the room, speed bags and pear-shaped reflex balls stood against the walls, and several figures in training vests and shorts were drilling on their own.
He looked down. He was wearing an ordinary grey training t-shirt and black athletic shorts, with a pair of training shoes on his feet.
For a single disoriented moment — and then Amamiya Rin understood completely.
This was the Dream World. Formed from the collective unconscious and imaginations of himself and Tomie, it was a dimensional space running parallel to the real universe. The laws of physics and the authenticity of elemental change here were no different from reality — calling it a waking dream realm would not be an exaggeration.
And the environment surrounding him now was a boxing gym, shaped from Tomie's memories.
In order to compensate for Amamiya Rin's gaps in ability, the Tomies had studied a range of fighting techniques — boxing, Muay Thai, Krav Maga, Brazilian Jiu-Jitsu, Hayashizaki-ryu Iaijutsu, and the Jigen-ryu.
Setting aside kicks and elbow-knee strikes, boxing was unquestionably the most effective unarmed combat system in the modern era. Its straight-hook-cross framework was mature, its punching speed and explosive power were exceptional, its footwork was fluid, and while there was a learning curve, it wasn't steep — it was genuinely beginner-friendly.
Muay Thai incorporated elbows, knees, kicks, and punches into full-contact striking. Direct and brutal, with devastating leg attacks — but relatively rigid footwork, large movement amplitudes, a slower rhythm, and a more complex technical system than boxing.
Brazilian Jiu-Jitsu was the undisputed ceiling of ground fighting. Outside of being poorly suited for multiple opponents, it had no real weaknesses — but its technical depth was correspondingly greater.
Hayashizaki-ryu Iaijutsu was a benchmark for real-world combat. Japanese police special forces still incorporate Hayashizaki-ryu's drawing cut and scabbard-strike techniques into their training programs. Its technical system essentially covers every practical need from ancient battlefield engagements to modern urban warfare, and it was selected specifically to fill the gaps left by the Shinkage-ryu drawing technique.
Jigen-ryu had explosive cutting power in abundance — its movements were wide and sweeping, with a broad slashing range — and it was chosen to reinforce the Shinkage-ryu's offensive capabilities.
Of the fighting systems on the list, the Tomies had so far developed a solid grasp of boxing, Hayashizaki-ryu Iaijutsu, and the Jigen-ryu, with an understanding of the core techniques and how to continue learning them. A Krav Maga textbook had also been acquired. Only Muay Thai and Brazilian Jiu-Jitsu remained at the foundational level — not yet deep enough to drill seriously in the Dream World.
「Then we start with boxing.」
Amamiya Rin murmured the words to himself and made his decision.
And while Amamiya Rin was working through his boxing drills, the other Tomies were far from idle. Some were pushing each other through medicine, cell biology, molecular biology, developmental biology, neurobiology, and bioengineering. Others were deep in mechanical engineering, working to improve and build more powerful weapons. And others still were studying the alchemy they had obtained from the Kawabe household.
The Paracelsian school of medical alchemy — Tomie had already purchased every required material. The proportions in the formulas remained unclear, but with a Dream World whose authenticity matched reality, she had all the time she needed for trial and error.
And somewhere far removed from all of this, the Tomie who had set her heart on becoming a vampire had already begun her own plan.
A Western-style castle set deep in the mountains. A cold, cavernous stone hall. A few torches were thrust into iron rings, casting restless, wavering shadows. The air was thick with the smell of damp stone, ancient dust, and a faint trace of iron — like dried blood.
At the center of the hall, the Iron Maiden stood in silent, brooding stillness. On the wall directly facing it, the portrait of Elizabeth Báthory had been hung with deliberate ceremony.
In the dancing torchlight, the eyes of the painted countess seemed to grow stranger and more alive — as though they could genuinely pierce the canvas and observe everything below.
Kawakami Tomie stood before the portrait. On the floor in front of her, a complex pentagram had been traced in blood, its lines catching faint glints of light from the torches.
Ritual materials were arranged at each point of the star. Off to one side, a woman lay with eyes closed, breathing steadily.
That face — it was Kawakami Tomie's own.
Tomie wasn't certain whether a body conjured out of nothing within the Dream World could actually function as a proper sacrifice. She wasn't certain whether a black magic ritual could even be completed inside the Dream World at all.
But none of that mattered. Even if it failed, no real harm would be done.
Still, the details were worth attending to. If success was possible, all the better.
So Tomie had simply knocked someone out and dragged her in — one of the so-called counterfeits.
Tomie hauled open the two halves of the Iron Maiden's door with considerable effort. The hinges gave a dry, grating shriek.
Inside, rows of short iron spikes gleamed with a dull, dark light.
She shoved the other Tomie inside, then swung the door shut.
The heavy metal door began to close.
At first it moved smoothly — but as the gap narrowed beyond a certain point, the resistance grew.
The body of the sacrifice inside had begun to press against the tips of the spikes.
Tomie put her weight into it.
「Pfft.」
A small, wet sound. The longer spikes punctured skin first, then more followed — pressing in, driving through muscle and flesh.
Tomie's expression didn't change. She simply kept applying steady, even pressure.
When the two halves of the door sealed completely shut, flush and seamless, a thick fluid began to seep slowly from the bottom of the Iron Maiden, dripping down into the copper basin placed beneath it.
Tomie dusted her hands — though there was nothing on them — crouched down, and observed the liquid gathering into thin streams as it flowed down. She touched a fingertip to it.
It was viscous. It carried the faint warmth the Dream World had simulated, and its smell was nearly identical to real blood.
She stood, walked to an unassuming knob on the side of the Iron Maiden, gripped it, and turned it hard.
「Clunk… clunk…」
From inside came the muffled grinding of levers turning. The fluid seeping from the door gaps increased — from a drip to a thin, steady trickle — and the iron smell in the air grew stronger.
Tomie waited in silence, occasionally glancing up at the portrait of Elizabeth on the wall.
The countess's eyes in the painting seemed to shift and change with every flicker of the torchlight — but that might have been an illusion.
About ten minutes later, the copper basin was more than half full of dark, thick crimson liquid.
Without hesitation, Tomie stripped off her clothes, plunged both hands into the warm fluid, and scooped up a full, dripping handful, pouring it over her own skin.
The viscous liquid soaked through her black hair and ran down along the ends, over her cheeks and neck. She kept scooping it up, spreading it across her bare neck, arms, and collarbones — then her cheeks and forehead.
Within moments she was dyed entirely red. A small dark pool was forming at her feet.
Her eyes, amid the red-stained mess, were unusually bright. They were fixed hard on the portrait on the wall, and her lips began to move — reciting the contorted Latin incantations.
The words of the ritual echoed through the stone hall, winding together with the sound of dripping blood.
At some point the torchflames had begun to behave strangely, guttering and swaying without cause, their color shifting to an unnatural bluish tinge.
The blood-drawn lines of the pentagram on the floor seemed to pulse with a faint, ominous dark gleam — but it was there and gone in an instant, too brief to be certain it wasn't just the torchlight playing tricks.
Then, all at once, the torches plunged into dimness — and in the same moment surged back up, blazing high, but now burning cold and pale white, bathing the entire stone hall in an eerie, deathly light.
An invisible pressure spread through the air, oppressively heavy, like a hand pressing down on the lungs.
Tomie took half a step back. Beneath the red-streaked grime on her face, those beautiful eyes held not a trace of fear — only keen curiosity and anticipation.
Could this actually work? Could a black magic ritual performed in the Dream World really summon Elizabeth? Would the Elizabeth who appeared be fabricated by the Dream World, or something real? And if real — what would the mechanism be?
Question after question flashed through Tomie's mind as her eyes stayed locked on the portrait of Elizabeth.
In the painting, the corners of Elizabeth Báthory's mouth curved — upward. She seemed to have truly come alive.
Those dark crimson eyes began to move, slowly, focusing on the blood-soaked girl before her.
In the next instant, she stepped out of the portrait.
The canvas rippled like a reflection disturbed on the surface of still water. A tall figure peeled away from that distorted play of light and shadow — shifting from insubstantial to solid — and landed lightly at the center of the pentagram, standing before Tomie.
But… why did she look different?
Tomie stared at the figure before her, and her expression shifted to one of bewilderment.
The first thing that struck her was the hair — a striking, conspicuous white.
It fell just to the shoulders, gleaming with a cold, glacial luster in the pale light.
Atop her head sat a peculiar crown ornament — metallic, with pointed spires reaching upward, like some icy floral coronet or a miniature crown of thorns.
She raised her head and revealed her face. The features were so perfectly formed they verged on the unreal, carrying a kind of inhuman refinement. Her skin was the cold white of someone who had not seen daylight in a very long time. Those pale green eyes held the faintest ghost of a smile, along with an effortless, natural arrogance.
She was not wearing the classical full-length gown from the portrait. Instead, she was clad in a strange suit of armour that blended the classical with the modern.
The dominant colour was dark crimson, laced through with elaborate gold filigree that wound and branched like veins.
The pauldrons and breastplate were adorned with raised spike decorations. Vambraces covered her to the elbow. Over it all she wore a dark cloak trimmed along its edges with fine gold piping.
Her right hand gripped a straight scepter, its head fashioned in the shape of a bat with wings spread wide, poised for flight.
The lower half of the armour had a distinctly unusual design — one side guarded the hip and leg in full, while the other side boldly left a long leg exposed, covered only by mesh fabric, flowing down into a pair of high-heeled thigh-high boots.
This appearance — so utterly unlike the portrait — left Tomie momentarily speechless.
The woman standing before her looked less like a medieval vampire countess and more like the female boss character from a modern fantasy production.
Wait — that design! Hadn't something like this appeared in Amamiya Rin's memories…? Dragon Lady Camilla?
Kawakami Tomie suddenly put it together.
So then — was this Elizabeth real or fake?
All at once, the air seemed to lose a fraction of itself. The chill in the stone hall deepened sharply.
Elizabeth looked down at her new form, and a deep frown creased her brow.
「What is the meaning of this?」
A cold voice rang out, full of confusion and displeasure.
This extravagant armour and scepter were profoundly uncomfortable to wear — especially that stretch of mesh leg armour leaving half a limb completely exposed. It was thoroughly undignified.
Elizabeth raised her left hand and touched her own chest.
「A sub-space formed from human yearning? A Dream World?」
In Junji Ito's worldview, the Dream World does not belong entirely to the dreamer. To whisper in the ear of a sleeping person is to invade their dream — by that logic, the Dream World was itself a kind of sub-space.
For Elizabeth, as a demon, invading the dreams of others was a commonplace affair.
But she had never entered a Dream World as peculiar as this one — where the dreamer's thoughts were potent enough to reshape her very appearance.
And moreover — why this particular appearance? Was the dreamer here some kind of otaku?
Elizabeth was thoroughly perplexed. She raised her eyes and glanced at Kawakami Tomie standing before her.
But no matter how she looked at her — top to bottom, every angle — this woman bore absolutely no resemblance to someone occupying the lowest rung of the social hierarchy in this country.
No matter. It wasn't important. The ritual had already been completed; these peripheral details could be set aside.
「Human — receive my power. I shall grant you the face that does not age.」
Elizabeth's voice reverberated through the frigid stone hall, carrying an authority that brooked no dispute. She casually discarded the scepter to one side, cupped Kawakami Tomie's face in both hands, and fixed those pale green eyes on Tomie's.
「Zzt——」
In the next instant, an icy, alien sensation seeped inward. Tomie's mind erupted with a static noise that didn't exist.
Tomie's body went rigid.
Her instinct was to pull free — but she found she couldn't muster the strength to move her body.
No — that wasn't it. It wasn't that her body lacked strength. It was that she could no longer transmit commands to her body normally.
「Zzt… zzt-zzt…」
The static in her mind grew louder, laced through with murmuring whispers of indeterminate meaning.
Fragments of alien imagery flashed through her head — candlelight swaying in a dim corridor, dark crimson liquid rippling in a tall-stemmed glass, a young girl being drained of blood inside an Iron Maiden… Each image carried a crushing weight of emotion.
Hunger. Greed. Pride — and cruelty.
The alien sensation began to spread, like viscous liquid winding through the grooves of a brain.
Tomie felt her thoughts growing sluggish. A strange and yet somehow familiar cognition was quietly taking root — a not-herself within herself being born.
What a bizarre feeling…!
「The ritual is complete. From this day forth — offer me your performance, my child.」
Elizabeth released Tomie's face and smiled — a smile that was unmistakably evil.
No true body, so no true first embrace? For the transformation of a vampire to be so inconvenient as this — unacceptable!
That smile held on her face for one frozen moment.
Then her figure began to blur, like a fading phantom, growing gradually transparent until she was gone entirely — as though she had never been there at all.
Tomie shook her head hard.
With Elizabeth's disappearance, that alien thing that had been pressing into the core of her mind seemed to vanish along with her.
She raised a hand and touched her own cheek. Skin smooth, body temperature normal. She looked down at herself — covered in blood — and found everything as it should be.
「…Huh?」
Tomie let out a single, confused syllable.
That was it? Where was the power? Where was the sensation of becoming a vampire?
Aside from that brief, strange episode moments ago, she didn't feel as though anything about her body had changed at all.
____
👻🔥+40 ch: Walnut-chan🔥👻
🔥 New history: Uchiha Reborn in Jujutsu Kaisen: The System Thinks I'm in Konoha, but I'm Not
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