I was met with scenes of my previous fights, nearly all of them and I couldn’t help but frown, especially when I witnessed myself wielding blood, I could see where I grew and gained experience, sure, but there was no discipline, maybe? No, I guess Oliver would say control. Something I agreed with as I thought the very same before.

I wasn’t certain, but I think the proving grounds made it easier to assess myself. I could see small inconsistencies in using the Art of Sanguina, but I didn’t have a solution. I suppose this second level was to come to a conclusion myself.

After understanding what was required of me in this next juncture, I found myself in an empty field of sand underneath the same grey sky.

I let a blood mist spread out with me as the center, but I didn’t take any further action. I sat down, crossed my legs, and continued to expel blood until it filled the air completely, preventing me from seeing anything. I could still see traces of the violet-colored miasma flashing within it.

I began condensing the blood so that it would stick close to my body while thinking of that endless bloodscape I had seen once before.

‘The Path of The Dread Sorcerer embodies freedom, so much so that it earns scorn. Is it really necessary for me to alter the way I wield my sanguina…?’

I closed my eyes and watched as my own fights played out in front of me as I searched for an answer.

As I continued to see memories, I began to feel a sense of enlightenment brewing. I likened the blood I controlled to water and pictured rivers and waterfalls before settling on an ocean. Just like when I pushed for further control, the ocean of blood was the obvious solution.

I stood up and began wielding the blood. There was a rhythm to waves, an ebb and flow, push and pull so to speak.

With a tinge of joy, I took a step and thrust my arms forward, sending the blood crashing like a wave. I twisted my body, spinning around while withdrawing it and sent it upward like a water spout.

‘Penelope made her own way of fighting, right?’ I thought as I tightened my movements and became more fluid.

I jumped vertically while spinning my body and a spiral of red rotated around me. Throwing both of my hands out to the side sent wide scarlet arcs flying in each direction.

‘Ebb and flow.’ The blood that was sent forward had to be pulled back in retreat. It would allow me to attack and defend. I combined my movements from Penelope’s Dance with my blood wielding and created something new.

If my left hand was sent out, my right would pull back and vice versa. If both hands went forward in one breath, I’d have to bring them close to me in the next. I followed a calm rhythm no matter how powerful an attack I performed. By doing that, I could draw out all of its potential while wasting little to no power.

I clasped my hands together and a wall of blood slammed together in front of me before rising up as if erupting from the ground.

If Penelope’s Dance involved using the strengths of a Death Bringer to draw out immense physical power then this was a Blood Dance befitting the path of the Dread Sorcerer.

…

“Have you found what you’re searching for? Is this where you stop? Or is there more awaiting you, friend?” Oliver’s string of questions was the first thing I heard when I recovered myself.

I felt intoxicated with the feeling of success in my endeavors as well as an annoyance in being pushed out right after achieving another milestone.

“Why are you still here anyway? You’ve been here for years and you’re still searching for more, is that it?” I asked with a bit of a sour tone.

“Those are wonderful questions,” He turned his eyes upward. “What I seek… I suppose it is the truth, friend.”

“That isn’t vague at all.” My sarcasm filled statement failed to get any real reaction from Oliver.

Stolen from its rightful place, this narrative is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.

“Isn’t the nature of truth sometimes incomprehensible? Or… perhaps its ambiguity signifies a lack of perspective. If you and I fail to understand the world as a whole, does the problem lie with us or the world, friend?”

“You sure love your philosophical musings,” I muttered, looking toward the stairs that continued up to the next level.

“This place is meant to help you find wisdom that already lies within yourself, it would be a waste not to ponder questions that may or may not have answers.”

“Whatever you say… I’m going up,” I said, heading upward without waiting for him.

“I guess that I should return also but I’d like to think that my time wasn’t wasted speaking with you as I’ve come to learn much more. Thank you,” said Oliver from behind, his voice growing more distant with each step.

…

The next juncture in my ascension wasn’t as grandiose as I expected. Instead, it was horrifying. I felt my body falling apart as I moved higher as if it were being broken down and dissolved. There was no pain associated with, but it did cause me immense panic to no end. It was like being drowned in mud or fighting to stay afloat while covered in cinder blocks.

I could only watch in stunned silence as my skin very much melted, my muscles seem to be stripped away and my bones withered like they were eaten with acid.

By the end of it all, I was only a thick puddle of reddish viscera that continued to liquify. I kept my consciousness in all of this, which was anything but reassuring.

My perspective changed and I could see myself, or, what was left of me.

‘This is… I get it, I’m supposed to reconstruct myself.’

I was aware that the Art of Sanguina held the potential for regeneration, but I was scared to see how far.

‘This isn’t real,’ I told myself.

If this was reality, I’d never tried something so dangerous, but in this space, it allowed me to experience as if it were happening.

I focused my concentration on a singular point and tried to pull myself back together. The puddle of blood rose and contorted according to my will, but it failed to take shape. I stopped everything and began to think.

Rather than just being a liquid, the Art of Sanguina gave my blood mystical properties. To take control of my own lifeblood meant that in a way, I had a way to achieve extended longevity. The soul was not something physical and it held me, every part of my being, every thought and memory was of my consciousness was carried with it. As long as my soul was undamaged and I had blood that was still ripe with vitality, it didn’t matter if my body was destroyed to this extent.

I watched as strands of blood expanded, twisting and turning as a shape was formed. Bones and muscles developed before a human body came to fruition.

Something pulled my consciousness toward it and with a deep gasp, I opened my eyes, feeling as if I had escaped a whirlpool.

‘That won’t be something I can do with ease.’ I realized that when I still felt a biting sense of exhaustion inside of me regardless of this place is a construct of some other being’s will.

If I was lucky, I could escape death every so often. I imagine that reforming my body from a literal puddle of blood would leave me drained of everything. In that state, I’d be extremely vulnerable, but at the same time, if I waited too long I knew my soul would be damaged.

‘Let’s not gamble with my life any time soon,’ I ingrained the thought within my mind.

Any number of factors could alter my success in reconstructing myself and thinking I was invincible would only get me killed faster.

…

“It’s been a while, friend.” Oliver greeted me, sitting cross-legged next to a stone statue of a gaunt man.

“Has it?” I couldn’t really tell anymore.

Places like these, whether they were dreams or ruins, made my internal clock go haywire. I learned from the proving grounds that trying to keep track of time would only hurt me rather than help.

“Hey, Oliver.”

“Hm?” He turned to me, giving his full attention.

“Do you plan to leave this place?”

Instead of answering immediately, Oliver closed his eyes, deep in thought before he spoke again.

“There is a verse in the Dhammapada which reads something like, ‘A man may conquer a million men in battle, but one who conquers himself is, indeed, the greatest of conquerors.’ Even now, I still fight against myself.”

I saw his eyes narrow as he gazed distantly so I quickly spoke.

“Do you still want to see Alexandra? And your family?”

“Alexandra,” Oliver mumbled softly, reaching out as if attempting to grab hold of something. “My family,” he whispered.

His body vanished in the next moment leaving me alone to climb further up.

"Strange," I muttered. A growing suspicion continued to grow in me, but I held back for now.

I hoped that he’d remember what he left behind, for his own sake.

I quickly noticed that his strange questions and observations were an attempt to help me. Each time he spoke of something, it gave me an idea of what to expect next. So, maybe I’d be fighting against myself during this next climb.

As eager as ever, I awaited whatever came next as the grey clouds surrounded me.