Mort could feel it as he wiped a stream of silver liquid from his mouth. His hands were shaking. “Since when was I consumed by this desperate instinct?” he wondered. After letting the Silver Cats escape his mouth, he found the fog in his mind cleared, if only a little. He sent the adventurers forward, each of them flexing the chains on their hands, brandishing them as weapons.
The silhouette atop the throne shifted slightly, resting the shadow of its head on its arm. Its burning red eyes glanced at the adventurers and the unique monster, called Mort. It breathed out a sigh; a mist escaped its mouth, and the chill air of the cave made each of its breaths form warm clouds.
It spoke two words, each crackling with power, causing the very cave to quake. The words themselves were incomprehensible, but if words had weight, they would have crashed from its lips like falling stars. The adventurers held their hands over their ears, screaming as blood poured from between their fingers. The creature turned its eyes away from the fools. Flicking its eyes between the walls of the cavern as dozens of goblins began emerging from the dark recesses and various holes in the walls. A sort of chanting had started from the creatures, and some even began banging war drums in rhythm.
The creatures themselves were in many shades of gray, and blue likely they were different subspecies of goblin, each were short in stature standing at no more than three feet at the most, but was more like two and a half due to their hunched posture, comparable to small monkeys. Their ears were in a multitude of shapes, some being sharp as knives, others being jagged, but there was one commonality, their ears were all pointed similar to an elf, and of course their eyes glowed a sickly yellow in the dark.
Mort could see it before it happened. As the two words fell from the creature's lips, he watched as the essence began to radiate from the creature's throat. Around the cave countless flecks of essence steamed to move to the accord of whatever words were spoken. A large swath of essence passed through the humans, causing them to scream out in pain, holding their heads. But that did not seem to be the essence's purpose. Instead, it collapsed together, emitting a sound wave that Mort could not hear.
–
Far beyond the cave, in the town of Silence, each person abruptly stopped their tasks. All their focus was being shifted to something else, their eyes closed and each of them sat on the ground.
–
The countless Silver Cats flooded toward the goblins on both sides of the cave. Screeching could be heard from the small creatures in anticipation and excitement. The Silver Cat drones would be elated to have a form of their own. After all, failure to control the host would lead to their own demise; it was a race of sorts.
The screams filled the cavern like a symphony; Orchestrated by Mort, and this unholy figure. It gave Mort the focus he needed, shifting his shoulders, his robes falling to the floor around him, revealing a thin set of armor. The design itself looked lightweight, and each curve and groove had the same type of etchings carved into them as one might see on Mort’s robes. He closed his eyes for the briefest of moments, flexing his arms. The etchings began to emit a gold color, and the essence in the air pulled toward Mort, causing the color to begin to burn brighter until it changed to a purple hue.
Mort, even before he had become this monster, was not a normal mage. Second circle was never actually his true level. Mort flexed his fingers and twirled them in the air, extending his hand toward the screaming adventurers. They continued to scream, but their limbs moved to his will. Mort shifted his hands again, like a puppeteer. The humans turned toward each other and latched onto one another, digging deep into one another's skin with their teeth and fingers. It was the kind of violence that only wild animals would do. With every bite, every cut, blood poured from the wounds, but rather than falling to the ground or lingering along their skin, the blood floated in the air around them, as pooling globules. The truth was, Mort was what was called a Blood Mage.
He quickly finished his task, swiping his hand through the air. Each of the humans fell to their knees as their bodies began to dry out into husks. Mort stepped forward, this time his hands remained at his side. Every drop of blood flowed toward Mort; like a loving embrace, they encircled him in thin rings, twirling around his body. The Silver Cats, having taken over some of the goblins, began killing the others. Stabbing, cutting, biting—nothing was off the table for these feral creatures. The blood from each side of the room moved toward Mort, seemingly of its own accord.
The red eyes settled on Mort again. In the dark of its face, a sheen of yellow and red began to spread along its face, forming a toothy maw and bloody serrated teeth; for the first time in a long time, it looked excited. It spoke again; this time, it said four words. The rock leading from the throne down to the floor reshaped itself into a jagged staircase. Mort saw this and smiled. The two of them strode toward each other from opposite sides of the cave. Having reached the humans, the faint glow of the crystals embedded in the walls and ceilings revealed its form. Its skin was black in hue and looked rough as leather. Its body was muscular, clearly defined by the nearing light. Its expression remained in that toothy smile. Its face was similar to that of a human, except for its mouth. This creature had an unnaturally wide mouth; Mort guessed this thing was quite carnivorous. Its eyes—they were piercing, sharply defined, and the red color in its eyes moved similarly to the red essence Mort was familiar with. It was naked, save for the tattered pants and thick boots it wore. It never broke stride, even as its boots crushed the dead adventurer's body under its feet, snapping bone, and squishing lifeless thin hunks of flesh.
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Mort was the first of the two of them to act. Using some of the blood circling around him, blades began forming along each of his arms. The blood hardened, crystallizing into two fine ruby-colored blades that glistened, hungry for fresh blood. Mort manipulated the blood around him, causing some of the leftover to move to certain parts of his armor. The blood touched the armor. This armor was unique; blood empowered it, activating an array of spell forms engraved on the underside of the armor. The metal had once been a light silver color, but with the blood touching it, a maroon color spread along the armor until it was completely covered.
They began to circle one another. “Everything you are will be mine,” Mort said. The shaking in his limbs had stopped. A red glow emanated from his feet, and in a fraction of a blink, Mort closed the gap, swinging a blood blade while spinning his body, aimed for the beast's torso. Mort did not need to focus to use his blood magic; it was something akin to instinct for him. His mind was focused on another task—formulating a complex spell form. Essence around the room pulled to him in massive quantities, even as he fought the creature.
The beast said nothing to Mort; instead, when he spun upon it, it effortlessly caught the blade with a single hand. Surprised Mort’s spell form shattered, causing the essence to spread out once more around the room. Its smile had faded, its nose wrinkled as a color of red began to glow from its collarbone. Mort tried to break its grip by slashing at its arm, but its flesh continued to regenerate. “I want it even more!” Mort yelled aloud. The blade slipped through its fingers, returning to its liquid state before reforming a microsecond later. Mort took the opening it had from its surprise, slashing at its ribs, only to hit air again! It was frustrating.
The creature had only taken a step back, its hand covered in some of the liquid of the blood blade. It licked its fingers, the smile returning to its face. It stomped on the ground, the red color in the middle of its collarbone flaring up its throat, and it opened its maw. Spewing a stream of unfocused flames bursting from its mouth, the pressure of which sent Mort backward a few steps. The heat was beyond that of most spells even he was capable of; Mort knew if that attack landed he surely would have died.
Mort dived forward again, moving around the continually hurled flames, swinging the blade from his flank toward the creature's neck. His foe moved at the last second, causing the tip of the blade to skim along its flesh. Its skin knit itself back together. Flames licked the side of the creature's mouth as it turned toward Mort. he slid under the creature, dragging his blades along its legs, but the same had occurred. Its wounds were healing too fast. Its hand caught Mort by the back of his neck, dragging him to his feet; it clamped its maw down on Mort's shoulder, tearing at the metal. Mort pushed himself away from the creature, but the damage was done. The pauldron had been torn away, revealing Mort’s shoulder, and undershirt.
Mort was running out of stamina. Even using blood from fallen goblins and the dead adventurers, he was making next to no headway. He had no choice; there was only one way to win. They circled one another once more.
Mort lifted his arm, drawing all the blood around his body; even the hardened blades moved up toward his hand, pooling around his finger in a small compressed form. Spinning faster and faster on his finger. It hurt; it hurt so much. “Faster!” Mort screamed the words, heightening his focus.
The goblins had long since been slowly taken over by the Silver Cats. Each one leapt toward an individual, hoping to gain control and serve Mort, expanding his control. The manipulated goblins bled an aura of silver and red from their bodies, invisible to most because it was, in fact, essence. Those under the Hive's control shoved others to the ground, allowing the Silver Cats to take over their bodies.
Mort was still gathering blood when a single Silver Cat broke off from the group, crawling up Mort's leg and moving under his clothes and along his body. A scream escaped Mort's mouth as his arm recoiled backward, his fingers snapping on his right hand from the recoil of the attack. The blood swirled from his fingers at a speed even he could not perceive. By the time Mort's eyes moved back onto the creature, it had already closed the gap. It had dodged a fatal blow but had a single missing arm. It grabbed Mort by the throat, opening its maw, and clamped down on his exposed shoulder.
Through the pain, Mort smiled. It tore the flesh away and swallowed it; its arm started to rapidly regenerate as it licked the blood from its lips. He's mine, he thought, watching as the creature dropped to its knees. Its serrated mouth opened, and a scream escaped its lips as a mound of its flesh, starting from its throat, began to move. The creature inside its mouth had allowed itself to be swallowed, having burrowed under Mort's skin earlier, waiting to move the next time it attacked his shoulder. It started digging at its own skin, trying to grab the creature under its hard flesh, but it failed in its pursuit. Mort knelt down, Placing grabbing the creature's chin between his index finger, and thumb, he gripped its face tightly as he said. “You are mine now.” A cruel grin flitted across Morts face. Its eyes slowly began to churn with a swirling red, and silver hue.
Mort pulled his hand away, covering the wound on his own shoulder with his good hand. He screamed as a red color covered his palm. He seared his skin with the fire essence buried in the crystals in the ceiling, cauterizing the wound. He panted, moving to do the same to his broken fingers. Exhausted from the fight. Mort fell to the ground, passing out.
However that was not exactly true, looking down at his own body, Mort tested his new form. It was far stronger than he ever was. His vision was crystal clear; that’s when Mort realized what more he could see, he was astonished. His new lips peeled into a smile, revealing serrated teeth. This was beyond his expectation. Mort turned his gaze toward the goblins still in combat with each other. His voice formed the word; it was so heavy that it caused a reaction in the essence in the air. All of it crashed to the ground at the same moment.
Translated to the tongue of man, what Mort had said was “Down.” The essence obeyed, but that was not all. The goblins in the area fell to the ground, their bodies pressed hard into the rocks incapable of moving. So this is real power, Mort thought to himself. It was intoxicating, Mort could also still taste a lingering flavor, was this what he tasted like? It was delicious. His eyes landed on the still unconscious Lyn, and Drake. ‘Should I eat them?’ he asked himself.