Leif awaited the inevitable arrival of his enemy in the clearing of swords, sensing the uncomfortable prickling against his aura as it grew closer and closer. A family of birds roosting in a nearby tree panicked as the overbearing scent of blood washed through the forest, only to fall to the ground, dead seconds after taking flight. Even the grass seemed to shudder, the tiny creatures living among the verdant blades and below in the moist soil shrivelling up and dying, drained of vitality.
A swarm of rodents dashed out from the undergrowth, paying Leif no mind as they sprinted, panicked into the clearing, only to succumb moments later, their small bodies withering as they died, tiny trickles of blood running in a river back towards the direction they were fleeing from. Leif’s perception was being battered by the sanguine aura, but he could still sense every tiny life being extinguished. It was an appalling sight, the unnecessary slaughter.
Laughter, base and haunting reached Leif, each sound was like the crunching of dead leaves. The approaching presence was gleeful and eager, and its malicious intent battered against him like the tide against the shore. The thing melted out of the tree line, loping on all fours, its front limbs twisted replicas of human arms, the back two that of clawed beasts. Bat-like wings sprouted from its back, though they seemed too small to allow for flight.
The monster was all bulging muscle pressing against crimson skin, and its madness tinted eyes stared down at Leif like a predator eying its next meal.
“Hideous.” Leif said, raising both wooden swords, each weapon blazing with amber energy.
The laughter stopped. Then an invisible vice grip grabbed him by the neck, tugging him forward with such force that Leif stumbled several steps. He resisted, surging vitality through his body, layering his aura like a shield before him to block the things control over his body. It worked, though only with significant effort.
What happened? Leif thought, deliberately backing away with careful steps. This is far more powerful than when I faced it back on Dimid with Marcus. Is it this strong because it killed and ate the hunting party? Is the clone actually multiple skills working in tandem?
He raised a hand and pushed the sword towards the monstrosity. The construct of blood didn’t attempt to move, its glowing red eyes tracking the projectile as it slammed into its middle. It didn’t flinch, instead its gaze flicked back to Leif, its unhinged, inhuman grin spreading. Leif cursed as the golden radiance of the blade faded away, the construct lowering itself and shuddering with pleasure as it consumed the amber life-force.
He had suspected as much, and was glad he had only infused two such weapons prior to the fight. With a brief effort of will he made the sword vanish into his spatial ring, though the task was made much harder as the aura of the monster sharpened into dagger-like blades, raking down his projection of self like nails on a chalkboard. Leif had one gilded wood bomb left, but the weapon may end up feeding the beast more than harming it.
“Hideous…” The clone rasped, the sound oozing out of its misshapen mouth. Leif didn’t want to think about where it got all those extra teeth. “Hideous…”
“I’m surprised you can talk. Were you pretending to be mute back at the Academy, or did all the extra blood change you somehow?”
The clone hissed and stalked forward, its bat-like wings morphing into a dozen gravity defying tendrils. Leif mentally ripped a pair of nearby blades up out of the ground, sending them flying towards the clone. One skidded off the creature’s side, dealing little damage. The other sank into an eye, causing it to freeze mid step. It then grew another dozen eyes all over its face, each swivelling in their newly created sockets before locking in on him with dilated fury.
It charged, blindingly fast. An icy grip clenched around Leif’s chest, and the blood flow in his ivory body ceased. [Amber Aegis] sprung up before him, a half dome of protective energy that shattered mid formation as the clone crashed through it, one deformed human arm lancing out for the scion's throat.
Leif blocked with a golden forearm, slapping away the extended limb. A tiny trickle of vitality flowed through the conjured arm, but at the same time the energy that had created the amber limb flowed into the clone. Then the rest of its body slammed into him, engulfing him entirely in a sea of blood. Leif lashed out, ripping and tearing, shredding the construct apart from the inside, his every blow syphoning away more and more life-force. But the clone was draining him right back, blades of blood stabbing into him from every side, carving thick indents into his outer body.
He wove together several golden limbs, punching a hole through the side of the construct. For a brief moment he saw the forest, only for the gap to close up an instant later, a wave of crimson liquid flowing into place to make up for the chunk Leif had blasted off into the night. Leif struck a hundred times, each blow made to prevent him from being restrained, destroying the clone’s body from the inside out. In retaliation, the creation of blood redoubled its offensive, ripping and tearing into Leif with a frenzied intensity.
“Drain.” Leif commanded even as tendrils of blood lashed around his mouth, the mask covering his face having been lost in the opening moments of the fight.
The world warped as his spell took hold, and the power he was drawing from the clone doubled, tripled, then halted completely as a wordless cry countered his working, twisting it to serve another purpose. The energy Leif had absorbed suddenly grew spines, the blood he had yet to convert lacerating him from within. There was no pain, just a deep seeded knowledge that severe damage had been dealt.
Leif focused his aura and steadied his will, wrenching back control of the vitality, only for his body to freeze as the clone took advantage of his lapse in concentration to spear into him from behind. Blades of blood punched up and through Leif’s torso, only to dissolve as his physiology and innate power ate away at what made them stable. The scion punched out, trading damage for damage. With every blow the harmful resonance of [Consuming Aeons] took root inside the construct’s body, he could feel it ramping at a pace he had never achieved before. The clone felt it too, its form exploding outwards to create distance, its silhouette bubbling and frothing.
Leif frowned internally as he sensed the damaging resonance shift within it, only to be ejected as a blackened globule of blood splattered onto the ground. The scion’s body healed, though not as quickly as he would like. Some manner of lingering effect was reducing the efficacy of his recovery. Fortunately, even half functioning, his body could keep going, and the closer to death he drew, the more damage he sustained physically, the harder it would be to ultimately claim his life. It was an interesting paradox, where the more physically healthy he was, the more susceptible he became to being obliterated by a single powerful attack. Not that the clone seemed to have such capabilities, and thank the gods for that.
Both combatants took a moment to size one another up, circling each other in the already thoroughly destroyed clearing. Then they charged, invisible aura’s slamming into each other, weaving into shapes and patterns that blocked, struck, defended and endured. The physical battle was no less complex, and for over a minute they grappled, pummelled, lacerated and tore. Then they broke free from one another to recover, only for the violence to commence once more with explosive fury. Wooden swords carved through the night air to stab and impale, the malformed blood clone shifting its form as it dodged and weaved. Leif felt drained, though his reserves had barely been dented. It was the back and forth trade of vitality, the clone’s sanguine mass being absorbed and quickly converted into amber energy, and his own golden essence being consumed in return.
The construct howled and lunged, any sense of restraint or tactics having been thrown aside as a primal desire to devour had overtaken its mind. Leif pulled himself away from its charge, golden limbs shooting out to grasp the branches of a nearby tree, hauling his body up and away. The clone smashed into the trunk, its form breaking around it like a wave against a rock. It rose, an oozing blanket of crimson snaking around the tree like a snake constricting its prey.
Leif kicked off, and something snapped inside him from the motion. He ignored it and reached out mentally, willing the wood to rupture, to expand and impale. The tree did so with groaning effort, its structure being unmade as its smooth and natural trunk erupted into a forest of spears. The clone froze as a dozen holes were punched through its form, shuddered as it fell, remaking itself from a coagulating puddle. The scion landed heavily, one of his legs giving out as he stumbled, unable to maintain his balance. He willed vitality into the most damaged parts of his body as the partially destroyed tree tipped, unsteady. Leif willed it to topple, holding out a hand to guide its inevitable fall down onto his enemy.
With a crash that shook the forest the construct of blood was crushed, its howl of indignant outrage silenced by the deafening impact that blasted chunks of loose grass and dirt in every direction. Leif backed away using several golden arms to support him, rolling his shoulder to try and work mobility back into his battered body. The healing was taking place, but it was too slow. The sanguine presence of the clone had shuddered as it was pulverised into the ground, but it was growing once again, hungry and violent. Something within Leif resonated with that feeling, his blood boiling in response.
He needed to quash the remnant of the clone’s blood that was still within him. [Surge of Life and Growth] was activated, the vitality within his body becoming supercharged as it rushed forward with renewed vigour, seeping into his every wound and mending his ravaged internals. The rate of healing more than doubled, but the aspect of the skill that encouraged growth seemed more than eager to do its own part, even if the results were less than wanted.
“Steady.” Leif commanded his own body as he began to change, expanding upwards and outwards as the compact weaving of wood he had created to limit the size and shape of his appearance was partially unmade. His working restrained the changes, but only partially. His arms extended, widening in inhuman places and narrowing in others. His legs lengthened, his worm boots being ripped apart from the inside as his feet changed, sharpening, losing any resemblance to the human equivalent he had worked so hard to make them imitate.
The [Scion of Aeons] clamped down his will and ended the rampant growth, but he was changed. [Inspiring Tenacity and Prowess] helped him to quickly find his balance, but there was something distinctly unnerving about the sudden change in his physicality. He was a foot taller, the joints of his altered body felt unnatural, the way they could move was restricted and increased in different ways.
Why is this happening now? He thought, flexing his fingers, clenching both hands into fists. Is it mana reinforcement? Or is this a consequence of compressing and condensing my body for so long?
The blood clone reformed, having shed much of its unnecessary features. The wings were gone, and in their place was a newfound rigidity to its physique. It was as if it were made of-
Leif pulled back and fired off a [Fist Projection] that rippled through the air between him and the clone. It dodged, but he had already prepared a second, then a third. The clone screeched as a wave of projected energy slammed into its side, and Leif’s body froze for an instant. Then it was on him, pouncing, tendrils of blood lashing, maw extended.
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They fought, leaving the clearing behind, carving a swath of destruction through the wilderness. Their coming was heralded by the sound of ferocious battle, and the aftermath of their presence left withered husks of beasts that had stayed too close, and the lifeless forms of trees that would slowly rot until they fell. Pools of rancid blood were left in their wake, splinters of ivory wood littering the ground. It was a grinding, endless battle between two beings on the very edge of being unkillable, neither having the strength to decisively end the confrontation.
Leif found it harder to focus the longer he fought, his soul ached, screaming with pain with every skill activation, and the hungry blood he consumed ate away at his mind, infecting him with bloodthirsty urges and alien instincts. He blocked, punched out, teleported backwards and created weapons of wood, and it was never enough. He was barely aware of himself as he fixated on the thing in front of him, a rich source of energy that could bring him to heights of power unseen in forgotten centuries. He just needed to reach out and claim it, rip it to pieces, consume, devour and control.
He lashed out, savage and unrelenting even as motivations that made little sense rattled against his awareness. He was his blood, rich and crimson, refined to perfection. Wait, no. Crimson? Leif thought, suddenly aware of how damaged his body was. Blood leaked from a hundred cuts, cracks and gaping holes, a thick and syrupy gold mixed with streaks of dark red. He blinked, raising a hand he didn’t recognise up in front of his face, ivory wood made of all sharp angles and jagged edges.
The trees around him were thin, far sparser than they should be. Where was he anyway, wasn’t he at the Academy? Wait, no. Things had happened since then, hadn’t they? Where were his men? Oh, he had killed and consumed them, hadn’t he? Sacrifices brought along to secure the prize.
No. Leif thought, taking a step back. That wasn’t me. That wasn’t me. He shifted his focus to [Willpower], then [Intelligence], and for the first time in what must have been half an hour he saw clearly. The thing before him had changed, while it was still a construct of blood, it had grown in stability, its body gaining definition. Though it almost resembled a human, its face was featureless, mask-like.
One of the clone’s arms hung limply by its side, and the glow from its right eye was dim, flickering fitfully as if it was barely able to stay open. Blackened liquid oozed from the ruined arm, flowing down the twitching hand before dripping off its fingers and falling to puddle on the ground.
The clone lurched forward, a blade of blood shooting from its working arm to slice towards Leif in a crescent. The scion just raised an ivory hand, dispersing the attack, absorbing what he could before it dissipated to essence. It left a furrow in his limb, though as damaged as Leif was, his body’s physical endurance was higher than it had ever been. They traded blows, then backed away, absorbing and processing what they had pilfered, then they clashed again, then again.
The clone created a webbing of razor sharp strands of blood to create space, but Leif ploughed through them with little thought. Distantly he could feel the waning presence of his opponent, sensed its intent to flee, to retreat and recuperate from the battle. That was unacceptable, though he couldn’t remember why. His aura flexed, damaged plant-fibre muscles tensing. A light broke through the trees, distracting him for a brief moment.
He turned, for the first time noticing that the darkness of the forest had retreated, how the night sky had gone from black speckled with dots of illumination to the faint greys and blues of early morning. The construct noticed too, and for a moment their fight ceased. Then the glint of something beyond the forest caught the blood clone’s attention, and Leif noticed it a second later.
The tops of distant buildings poked out over stone walls, hundreds of smoke trails snaking skyward as the city slowly awoke. The construct made to run, but it tripped after only a handful of steps. Leif pursued, the predatory instincts mixed into his body urging him forward. The clone snarled, and Leif felt his body lock up. He tried to fight through, to resist, but so much of what was inside of him he could no longer claim possession of. Leif forced his body to move anyway, driving it forward without a care for the damage he inflicted upon himself. He instinctively forced power down to his legs, and his soul screamed, pain flashing through his consciousness like a hot knife.
The clone stumbled to its feet and ran, loping awkwardly towards the city. With the last of his will, Leif reached for a nearby branch with his mind, making it spear downwards to lance through the chest of his enemy. It howled, the sound gargled and hollow. Leif regained control over his body and stalked forward, his every laboured step sinking into the soft ground, his desire to finally end this clouding over his rationality. The clone tried to dissolve its form, to ooze away like it had done a dozen times before. It couldn’t, not in time.
Leif grabbed it around the neck and fell forward, pinning it to the ground. The construct struggled and writhed, twisting and bucking. Its head snapped around, and they glared at one another with murderous hatred. The scion syphoned everything he could, drawing every drop of vitality into his body. The clone did likewise, reforming its one working arm into a blade and stabbing it through Leif’s gut.
Life-force flowed into Leif, then out and into the clone. He consumed what he could, converting the crimson energy into amber blood even as his soul threatened to tear in half. The creature of blood did the same, creating a loop of bloodshed, an ouroboros of mutual destruction.
He sensed the intent of the dying construct, felt its desire to hunt through the streets of Luriem and recover its strength. Leif drained more, took more, willed himself to absorb the struggling and writhing creature’s body, mind and soul. Time passed as they fought one another, but though it was dawn, there were no sounds of chirping birds. The forest held its breath, waiting to see which monster usurped the other.
When the clone suddenly ceased fighting back, the scion was surprised. He stared down at the frail, pitifully weak being pinned below him. This had been his enemy? His rival? His quarry? The thought was laughable. He was who stood above all things, an apex of creation, one who held supreme dominion over all other living beings, the living were his play things, and with eternity in his grasp there would be nothing that could stop him.
The thing, withered and disgusting, looked up at him with pleading, golden eyes. “Please.” It rasped, the sound like a whistle.
The scion glared down at it, even as an un-ignorable connection formed between him and his food. There was something strange, familiar and haunting in its eyes. It felt like a distant extension of himself, as if it were a product of his own creation. Something, that should it survive, could carry on his legacy. Instinct he barely understood compelled the scion to analyse it, to see just what information he could gleam.
Combat Experience: Lesser!
Age: Younger!
Error! Class and level undefined!
Highest Attributes: [Spirit], [Alacrity]!
The scion’s world was nothing but blinding pain and a growing, bone deep urge to sate himself within the walls of civilization. The words floating before his mind's eye were meaningless, worthless in every way. The clone went to speak once again, but the scion’s fist crushed its head before it had the chance. It spasmed, twitched violently, then he felt its aura dissipate, its mind dissolve like sugar in water, the threads of its intent unravelling. It died, but its corpse still had a use.
A tiny voice in the back of his mind called for caution, but it didn’t know what was best. Memories of a life half remembered advised against what the scion was about to do, but they were easily ignorable in favour of his far more reliable, hungry instincts. He spread his clawed fingers down into the puddle of blood, and froze as his soul cracked, a hairline fracture running down the crystalline contours of his existence. The scion hadn’t used a single skill to the point of it breaking, but instead had reached the hard limit of his power.
It was maddening, to be so close to ultimate strength, to achieving what his kind hadn’t dreamt of in centuries. Rage, frustration, then confusion. That didn’t make any sense, his kind? His kind had been dead for millennia, cut down and stripped for parts by the greedy and short sighted. But that wasn’t right either, he remembered shadowed halls and secretive meetings, of whispers in the night and hard earned influence.
Madness partially subdued by pain, he rested on his haunches and thought. The vitality at his feet bled into the soil and evaporated into essence, untapped.
Level up! Class [Scion of Aeons] is now level 27!
For outlasting a foe who could be considered a natural counter you have gained a level!
+1 to [Intelligence] +1 to [Spirit] +1 to [Charisma] +5 free points!
Mana reinforcement progress 55%!
Level up! Class [Scion of Aeons] is now level 28!
For killing a renegade spiritual construct that had gained independence from its creator you have gained a level!
+1 to [Intelligence] +1 to [Charisma] +5 free points!
Mana reinforcement progress 60%!
Tiny raindrops of self awareness plinked against the fraying tapestry of his cognition, not enough to bring the scion back from the brink, but enough to delay the approaching collapse. He saw the system message, but didn’t truly comprehend it, the words and numbers all blurred together in a meaningless blend. Instead of the words, what caught his attention the most was the red and gold border of the window. It had meaning, personal significance, he just couldn’t recall why.
For displaying a capacity and inclination towards savagery and violence against those you consider enemies and possessing a mastery over blood in both a magical and physical sense you have gained the opportunity to gain the [Attuned: Slaughter] class!
Class slots: 2/4
Accept? Y/N
Another message, another irritating tapestry of worthless information. The scion exhaled, the sound coming out as more of a rumbling growl than a hiss. With every passing moment his mind was clearing, and the words before him made more sense. His eyes flicked back to the very first window, the details of a corpse. Unimportant, with a thought he closed the popup. The second held numbers, a level, close to thirty now, though he couldn’t remember why that was important, only that it was.
A memory came unbidden, of two men trapped underground mistaking his level for something higher than it was. One half of his fractured awareness writhed in agony and fury, while the other peered closer, remembering…
An office, decorated with gaudy ostentation, a position of authority earned over generations of scheming and plotting. Words used to torment, goad and radicalise, creating willing victims who would fight and die for a hopeless cause. It was him, his memory, wasn’t it?
Desperate to distract himself from the twin senses of self tearing him apart, the scion looked at the final message, of the offer of power, the tempting allure of more extreme violence. Both parts of him revelled in the idea, one with savage delight, the other with resigned acceptance. Victims in a dark alley, bloodstained sheets, voices forever silenced. A struggle for survival, of brutal, savage, unarmed combat that tore limbs and shattered bodies. The class was a necessary power, and unfortunately fitting option. A path to greater heights, a road travelled at the cost of those weaker. A violent path, fitting a violent, confusing world.
A nearby city full of victims.
Yes!
No-
“Leif? Leif, is that you? What happened?”
The scion turned, suddenly aware of the presence that had appeared behind him. It was a human, a child, small and thin. She took a step back, orange eyes going wide. She had spoken to him, and her words had resonated with something. It was so hard to think, doubly so when a fragment of his consciousness raged against his budding comprehension.
He rose to his full height, his full stature greater than it had ever been, his shoulders brushing against the lowest branches of the nearby trees. He wanted to speak, to ask a question, but the words were a jumbled mess, his will to fully form them rattled by rising, irrational bloodlust. He stepped forward, the motion both heavy and unstable.
The little human stumbled back, fumbling for something at her side. She drew a blade, ivory wood streaked with golden cracks, pointing it towards him tip first with trembling hands, fear and concern clear on both her expression and quivering aura.
The scion looked down at the weapon and finally remembered. A life saved, a fate altered, a talent fostered, and a sword gifted. Amber life burned in his chest, silencing the screams that didn’t belong. What was he doing? How had it gotten this bad? Soul deep exhaustion weighed him down, bucking his legs, making him slump to the ground with a dull thud that shook nearby leaves.
“Yes… It’s me.” Leif said.
Lucia swallowed, half lowering the sword. “Promise?”
“Yeah… I promise. Sorry… Sorry for scaring you.”
“You changed.” She said.
“Not willingly.” He looked down at himself, finally taking in the full extent of the stark alterations that had been made to his body throughout the night. He raised a hand, where was his ring? Leif reached out mentally for the enchanted storage item, and felt his mind connect with it. It was still there, and on further examination he saw that it was embedded into the wood of his finger, grown over by his expanding finger.
“Why are you here? I thought you agreed to stay away?”
“It had been hours. I was worried.”
“About me? Leif chucked.
“Yeah.” Lucia pouted, sheathing her sword and crossing her arms. “I could have helped.”
“You did. Don’t worry, you did.” A silence stretched between them, and for the first time that morning the chirping of birds greeted the day. Leif closed the system windows, looking in disgust at the class he had almost chosen. Walking willingly into that dead end was not wise. Even if his current path was one of partially self inflicted challenge, it was still better, still more right than the alternatives.
He let out a breath, looking at the morning sky partially hidden by the canopy of non monstrous trees. His enemies were dead, they were safe, at least for now. He would need to work on his body, try to wrestle down and condense his form so that he could move through civilization once again. Something told him it would be a tedious, slow process.
“Do you still have the things we bought?”
“Yeah, they’re back at the camp I made. Are you alright?” She asked, eyes darting to take in the aftermath of the battle. “That's… that's a lot of blood.”
“I’ll live.” He said, slowly rising to his feet. “Though we should leave before anyone sees up. I’m not in any condition to fend off another manhunt.”
Lucia nodded, guiding him back through the forest. Signs of devastation littered their path, it wouldn’t take long for the locals to discover what had happened. The girl kept glancing up at him, a mix of worry and fascination etched onto her presence, even if she tried to keep her expression neutral. She was a good kid, worthy of a lot more than what life had thrown at her.
Leif stopped, finally coming to a decision. He wasn’t sure how to do it, or even if it was possible, but it wouldn’t hurt to try. “Lucia, how do you feel about learning an auxiliary class?”