Pov Leon

I leaned back on my throne of bones, staring at the swirling mass of blood above me as my thoughts drifted. My body ached, not from pain but from exhaustion. Training had been relentless, and while I'd pushed myself to new limits, the constant experimentation with demon blood had taken its toll. It felt like I hadn’t slept in weeks, maybe even longer. My mind buzzed with my latest test results: demon blood from a Rank H demon could last 26 hours outside its host before decaying, which was more than triple what I’d found in human blood back on Earth.

It was a useful piece of information, though not entirely satisfying. I needed to know more. Would blood from a higher-ranked demon last even longer? I suspected it would. My blood, for instance, had proven to last 31 hours outside my body, and I was hardly at my peak. The real question was which of the demons under my command would have the most enduring blood. If my theory held, it would be the Gnasher, with its towering vitality stats. That would require some... painful experimentation for the demons, but it would be worth it. Also might capture some monsters to see If I can use demon blood to change or influence them.

Still, there was the unpleasant side effect to contend with. Dead blood was useless in many ways—it tasted terrible, offering none of the vital energy fresh blood carried. Worse, the longer it stayed out, the higher the chance it became poisonous. I'd already felt the unpleasant sting of that mistake a few times. However, this could be used to gain resistance to poison. I might do this later on once I have more time on my hands. But I will keep the dead blood in a hole in here to use later.

But the wheels of my mind never stopped turning. There were ways I could make use of this decaying blood—fermentation, for instance. The thought made me chuckle. Blood alcohol. It could be something I could barter with, or perhaps keep for myself. Maybe it could even serve as a weapon—a way to intoxicate those I struck, clouding their senses with drunken confusion.

The possibilities were endless, but for now, I needed rest. I closed my eyes briefly, trying to relax, but the blood's ever-present hum made it difficult. Just as I was beginning to drift into an uneasy meditation, I sensed it—a faint ripple in the air. Vorthan’s blood. My stomach growled. He was approaching with purpose, and the faint scent of unfamiliar blood clung to him, accompanied by the weaker mana signature of a shadow imp. My curiosity stirred, my fatigue momentarily forgotten. What did they have for me this time?

I opened my eyes and shifted in my seat, blood armor creaking slightly as I prepared myself for their arrival. If Vorthan was coming to me now, it meant something of potential importance.

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I flung the stone door open with a blood-crafted hand, watching as the crimson tendrils returned to their place in the swirling mass above my throne, transforming into weapons before shifting again into new forms. The constant change of form mimicked my restless mind, but I paid it little attention.

Vorthan, the imp, and two other demons all bowed, offering their endless reverence, but I could barely hear his fawning words. His praise had long since dulled in my ears, becoming little more than background noise. My focus was fixed elsewhere—on the elf boy. His unconscious body lay bound in shadows, and even from this distance, I could taste the lingering essence of his blood. It was rich and clean, and it held the warmth of youth—like a strong cup of freshly brewed coffee, sharp yet invigorating. The scent stirred me, but the exhaustion weighing down on me doubled as my mind associated that warm taste with the bitter need for sleep.

A low growl rumbled in my throat. I was already in a foul mood. Being woken so soon after trying to sleep had turned my irritation into something far darker, and seeing this boy—this supposed "gift"—was doing little to lift my spirits. I glanced at Vorthan, barely keeping my temper in check. If this elf wasn’t worth my time, there would be consequences for disturbing me. There was potential here, but was it enough to outweigh the annoyance of being dragged from my rest?

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The elf's panic was grating on my nerves. His whimpering, his self-pitying cries—something about his parents and some imagined sin—were making the headache in my temples throb harder with every passing second. The room, already heavy with the scent of blood, seemed to pulse with my growing irritation.

I couldn't take it anymore. "Shut up. If you keep crying, I will kill you right now," I growled, summoning one of the orbs of blood from above me, and molding it into a spear. The crimson weapon gleamed darkly in the dim light, aimed directly at the boy's heart.

That shut him up—well, mostly. The tears still came, though quieter now, his body shaking as he tried to stifle the sobs. At least the noise had dimmed, but this broken whelp was of no use to me in his current state. I would get nothing valuable from him while he was like this.

Sighing, I rose from my throne and walked toward the elf. His trembling only grew worse the closer I got. His eyes were wide, full of terror, and his breath came in short, panicked bursts. I could see that there would be no reasoning with him—not like this.

So I didn’t bother. Without another word, I raised my hand, and some of the blood from my armor surged forward, twisting into a thin, needle-like tendril. It shot into the elf's forehead, and the Lesser Domination spell took hold, binding him to my will. Runic marks branded his skin, glowing faintly as they spread across his head.

"You will shut up and listen to Vorthan. You will not cause problems. Tomorrow, you will return here for questioning." My voice was cold and commanding, the words settling deep within the elf’s mind as his resistance crumbled under my control. Turning my gaze to Vorthan, I added, "Vorthan, take him to your quarters. Make sure he eats the horned rabbits, and ensure they're cooked. Keep him safe until tomorrow."

Vorthan bowed deeply, ever the obedient servant, and motioned for the Impaler and Gnasher to follow as he ushered the trembling elf out of the chamber.

With the elf and his entourage gone, I turned my attention to the one left behind—the shadow imp. She was shaking too, though whether it was from exhaustion, fear, or a mix of both, I couldn’t say. Her wide, nervous eyes betrayed her desperation, no doubt hoping for a reward or, at the very least, acknowledgment for delivering the boy.

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But I wasn’t feeling particularly generous. "Why are you still here?" I asked, my voice low, but the threat behind it was clear.

The imp straightened up, trying to hide her trembling, though she couldn't quite keep the fear out of her voice as she spoke. "M-my lord, I brought you the elf, as a gift. I... I hope it pleases you."

I silenced her with a raised hand. Her nervous words were not what I wanted to hear right now. The shadow imp stiffened, her eyes wide with a mix of fear and hope as I loomed over her. The silence between us stretched out, thick with tension, before I finally spoke.

"Leave me."

She blinked, unsure if she heard right, but I continued, my voice cold and unyielding. "Go rest. Once you're fully recovered, you will rejoin the others outside and resume scouting the lands. The gift is... acceptable, but I want results. Keep scouting. Only when I can verify the true value of your gift will I consider a reward."

Her shoulders sagged in what might have been a relief, but I wasn't finished.

"Now leave before I forget my manners and end up doing something you won't like." My eyes narrowed, my voice dark with warning.

The imp didn't need to be told twice. She bowed quickly, muttering some hurried words of thanks before vanishing into the shadows, her form melting into the darkness like smoke. Good. She knew her place—for now.

I returned to the throne, the exhaustion from earlier settling back into my bones. This elf, this pitiful wretch, was more trouble than he seemed, but maybe—just maybe—there was something deeper I could use. For now, though, I needed to rest. There were too many unknowns, and my mind was clouded with fatigue. But soon, once I had regained my strength, I would see just how useful this boy could be. If not, I wouldn't hesitate to dispose of him like the waste he was. Looking back at the stone door it was still open. Not wanting to move again or talk I just forced my blood back into the shape of a giant hand and slammed the door shut.

I let out a long breath, leaning back against the cold bone of my throne, and let the swirling orbs of blood hum around me, a silent guard as I closed my eyes, if only for a moment.

As I stumbled toward the newly made blood pool behind my throne, my legs felt like lead, weighed down by exhaustion. The swirling orbs of blood above me had already begun to falter, so I poured the last of my remaining magic into locking the stone door, freezing the blood into place with the rest of my mana. It would hold for now.

I was barely conscious as I reached the edge of the pool, my body swaying under the weight of fatigue. But I forced myself forward, collapsing into the blood with a dull splash. The crimson liquid embraced me like an old friend, cool and thick as it soaked into my skin. I could already feel it starting to replenish my strength, the raw power of fresh demon blood seeping into my veins.

The sensation was almost soothing, lulling me into a state of numbness. My head lolled back, eyes half-closed as I let myself sink deeper into the pool. I could feel the blood working its way through every fiber of my body, stitching me back together, even if only temporarily. The draining ache that had consumed me began to ebb, replaced by a slow, steady warmth.

For now, this would suffice. I could finally rest, my mind dulled to the chaos around me. Vorthan had done his duty in creating this new blood pool, and for that, I was grateful—though I would never admit it aloud. I would need my strength soon enough, but at this moment, I was content to simply let the blood work its magic.

As I lay there, submerged in the thick liquid, I allowed my mind to drift, shutting out the world. The elf, the imps, even Vorthan—all of it faded into the background. For now, there was only silence. And blood. Tomorrow would bring new challenges, but tonight, I would recover. I had to.

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Pov Vorthan

My master's orders were clear: feed the elf boy and ensure he sleeps. No room for error. His word is law, and I will see it through perfectly, as I have done countless times before.

The elf was trembling beside me, his small form dwarfed by the towering forms of the Gnasher and Impaler that followed us. They moved silently behind me, their grotesque forms creating an intimidating shadow that lingered over the boy. It was clear he feared for his life with every step, the aftermath of Master's domination still fresh in his eyes. I could feel the trembling pulse of his blood—panicked, erratic. I made sure to keep my pace slow, and measured, giving him no reason to act out or resist.

We wound our way through the dark, winding tunnels of the base. The stone walls, cold and damp, glistened in the torchlight. The shadows danced, and I felt a sense of pride as I guided him through the fortress we had built for our Master. Every stone was placed with a purpose. Every trap, every spell, designed to protect him. To defend his power.

We soon reached my quarters, a modest chamber filled with the skins and pelts of monsters I had slain over the years. The scent of dried blood and death lingered in the air, a familiar smell for me but likely overwhelming for the boy. He hesitated at the threshold, but I gave him no time to falter. With a flick of my hand, I commanded him to step forward, and he obeyed as the runes of Master’s domination pulsed faintly on his forehead.

Once inside, I motioned for him to sit on one of the thickest pelts—a massive hide from a fire-breathing beast we had killed not long after taking control of this region. The elf boy sat, his eyes wide with fear, his small frame looking even smaller against the huge, fur-covered slab. I turned to the Gnasher and Impaler, who had carried the horned rabbits impaled on the latter's spikes. "Cook the food, with the help of an Imp," I commanded. "Make sure it's done well. The boy will eat it." The Gnasher, with its slavering maw, licked its lips at the thought of fresh blood, but I gave it a sharp glance. "It is not for you. And If you try and eat it I will curse you and then cook you for the boy."

Soon, the scent of roasting meat filled the room, and I saw the boy's eyes dart toward the food. His stomach growled audibly—he hadn’t eaten in days, it seemed.

I allowed the corners of my lips to curl into a small, cold smile. "You will eat, elf. My master has decreed it."

The Impaler handed the cooked meat to the boy, its long spikes retracting as it tossed the meal to his lap. The boy hesitated, looking between me, the demons, and the food. His fear was palpable, but hunger drove him to take a bite. He ate slowly at first, then with increasing desperation, tearing at the meat as if it was the first food he’d ever had.

"Eat your fill," I said quietly, watching him intently. "You will need your strength for what comes next."

Once he had eaten enough, I watched his eyelids droop. The boy was still under Master’s influence, and fatigue was quickly taking over. I motioned to the thick pelt on the floor. "Lie down. Rest."

He was too weak, too fearful, to do anything but comply. The boy curled up on the pelt, his small body almost disappearing into the fur. His eyes, though heavy with sleep, still held a glimmer of terror as he glanced at me and the other demons. But sleep was inevitable, and soon, he drifted off.

I stood there, watching him as his breathing slowed. For a moment, I considered what my master had in store for this child.