My Three Beautiful Vampire Wives can hear my Inner Thoughts-Chapter 32: Best Blood Medicine

Rage did not cool them. It fermented.

Scylencer felt it bubbling under his skin, a crawling heat that made his bones itch and his thoughts blur, the kind of anger that demanded movement simply to exist, and so he moved, hands tearing through the air as infestation mana poured out of him again, not careful anymore, not measured, just violent and loud and desperate to make something break.

Poisotate mirrored him without thinking, their bodies falling into a familiar rhythm born from countless hunts, attacks layered over attacks, magic stacking upon magic until the space between them and Cain felt swollen and strained, like a skin stretched too thin.

"Die," Poisotate screamed as he hurled another spell, his voice cracking as he forced more power through a core that was already burning. "Rot Swarm Cataclysm!"

A tide of shrieking infestation mana rushed forward, shapes flickering inside it like mandibles and wings, tearing at the air as it slammed into Cain’s chest.

Nothing happened.

Cain didn’t even blink.

Scylencer snarled and followed, veins bulging along his arms as he dragged out another technique, one he had sworn not to use unless his life depended on it, but pride had already been trampled beyond repair.

"Mantid Emperor Severance," he roared, blades of compressed infestation mana flashing into existence, crossing and cutting again and again in a relentless storm meant to shred anything caught within it.

The attacks stacked.

The ground split.

The air screamed.

But Cain just stood there, hands loose at his sides, with a bored expression.

Soon, their failure hit them a heartbeat later, not as pain but as something worse, a hollow thud in the chest, a creeping disbelief that clawed its way into their minds no matter how hard they tried to drown it out with rage.

They attacked again.

And again.

And again.

Names poured from their mouths in hoarse screams as if speaking them louder might give the spells more weight, more meaning, more authority. Infestation mana flooded the field until the scent of iron and dust mixed with the buzzing pressure that pressed against their ears.

Scylencer felt his vision tunnel as he pushed past comfort, past reason, past anything that resembled restraint, his body trembling as he tore deeper into his reserves.

"Silent Hive Execution!"

Poisotate followed with "Abyssal Brood Erosion," his knees buckling even as the spell left his hands, teeth clenched hard enough to draw blood.

Cain yawned and shifted his weight.

Each failure fed the next surge of fury, each untouched strike twisting the knife deeper, turning anger into something raw and unfiltered, something ugly that burned away pride and left only the need to be acknowledged.

They could not accept this.

They would not.

Every instinct screamed that this was wrong, that power should obey rules, that realms meant something, that superiority was earned and proven.

So they kept attacking for reasons they could no longer name.

Minutes blurred. Or maybe it was seconds stretched thin by panic.

Scylencer’s arms shook uncontrollably as he launched another spell, his breathing ragged, chest heaving as if he had been running for miles.

Poisotate stumbled, caught himself, and screamed again, voice tearing as he forced out yet another technique, his mana flaring wildly, uneven, fraying at the edges.

Finally, the momentum broke.

They stopped not because they wanted to but because their bodies refused to move any further, lungs burning, vision swimming, sweat and blood streaking their faces.

They stood there panting, shoulders rising and falling in harsh jerks, infestation mana flickering weakly around them like dying embers.

Cain looked exactly the same.

He hadn’t even stepped back.

Scylencer lifted his head slowly, hate burning so hot it almost drowned the fear beginning to creep in. "What did you do," he demanded, voice shaking despite his effort to steady it. "Why can’t we hurt you."

Cain tilted his head and smiled, a lazy, indulgent curve of his lips that made something cold settle in their guts. "Of course you can’t," he said softly, mockery woven gently into every word. "I... an Overgod... hurt by insects."

He chuckled, low and amused. "Dream on."

The words hit harder than any blow.

Poisotate screamed and attacked again.

It was reflex more than thought, rage lashing out blindly as he hurled another infestation spell, weaker than the ones before but driven by pure spite.

Scylencer followed without hesitation, even as his core screamed in protest, even as dizziness threatened to drag him to his knees.

They screamed their techniques again and again, voices hoarse, throats raw, attacks sloppier now, edges dulled by exhaustion.

Infestation magic filled the space once more, but this time it felt different, thinner, less than earlier attacks.

Cain’s laughter rang out, sharp and sudden, cutting through the noise like a blade.

Blood-colored smoke began to pour from beneath his black coat, thick and heavy, rolling outward in slow waves that swallowed light and sound. It smelled rich and metallic, old and deep, and the moment it touched their skin, both Scylencer and Poisotate froze.

Fear replaced fury in an instant.

Their instincts screamed louder than ever before, not with rage but with terror, a primal warning that sank straight into their bones. This was wrong. This was not a fight they could win. This was not a being they should have provoked.

They attacked anyway.

Not out of anger now, but desperation.

Their spells came faster but weaker, frantic bursts of infestation mana flung forward as if distance alone might save them. The more they attacked, the more the fear grew, tightening around their chests, making their breaths shallow and uneven.

Cain moved.

He vanished from where he stood and reappeared beside Cornelia’s body, the shift so smooth and sudden it felt unreal. He knelt beside her, blood smoke curling around him like a living thing, his expression softening in a way that made Scylencer’s stomach churn.

"Cornelia," Cain murmured, brushing dirt from her cheek with surprising gentleness. "My love."

He glanced back at them, eyes glowing brighter, hunger no longer hidden. "The best medicine for us vampires," he said calmly, "are those who feel deep, seething fear."

He rose and flicked his coat as if dusting it off.

The world twisted.

Scylencer and Poisotate found themselves dragged forward by an invisible force, their bodies lifted and slammed down before Cain, knees hitting the ground hard. They didn’t scream. They couldn’t. Their throats were locked tight by terror, eyes wide, pupils trembling as they stared up at him.

Cain’s cape moved.

It snapped forward with brutal force, striking Scylencer’s head first, then Poisotate’s, the impact heavy and final. There was no pain, just a sudden, sickening emptiness as their vision cut out.

Their heads vanished.

Blood erupted.

It came in violent fountains, thick and steaming, spraying outward in arcs that soaked the ground and washed over Cornelia’s still form. The scent of it filled the air, heavy and intoxicating, and Cain watched closely as the blood splashed against her skin, seeped into her wounds, slid past her lips.

Her mouth parted.

A faint breath escaped her chest as the blood flowed in, and slowly, impossibly, her body began to respond. Torn flesh knit together, skin crawling and pulling as if guided by unseen hands. Missing fingers pushed out one by one, bones forming first, then muscle, then skin, each movement small but undeniable.

Her shoulders reformed, chest rising more steadily now, punctured flesh smoothing over as ribs realigned beneath it. Her legs healed next, feet reshaping, toes curling faintly as life returned to them. The deep wounds along her neck closed last, the angry red edges fading into smooth, pale skin.

Cain watched every second, breath shallow, eyes darkening as her beauty returned fully, unmarred, radiant in the blood-soaked light. His hand lifted without him realizing it, fingers twitching as if drawn by instinct, by desire sharpened to a painful edge.

He stopped himself inches away.

"Damn it," he muttered, clenching his fist as he forced his hand down.

Cornelia lay there, healed, alive, her chest rising in calm, steady breaths.

And yet Cain frowned.

His stomach was grumbling too, sharp and unsatisfied, gnawing at him from the inside. He straightened slowly, his eyes narrowing as he looked at her once more.

"I need more blood."

Cracking his neck, he continued, "Once she awakens, she’ll go on a rampage and even devour corpses. Worse, I’m getting hungry too! I need to feed her first before I feed myself."

Cain said flatly, "At least plenty of them."