With your choosing the skills this quest is complete. I have given you some information about each skill because you selected the best skills for you. Don't worry about the other skills you may be able to get them later on as long as you train hard enough. A new quest will be coming soon. Blood Holding Lv1/10: Creates a small storage area in a different dimension subspace using your blood as the activation medium—the size of the storage increases with skill level. Size 5x5ft weight is not a factor as long as it fits into the space within you can store it. Lesser Blood Sacrifice: In dire circumstances, Leon can offer his blood as a sacrifice to summon weak lesser infernal entities or invoke dark powers, trading his vitality for increased magical potency or assistance from otherworldly forces. Only lesser demons that are rank-f can be summoned. The summon will be sent back to hell once the demons finish their tasks or the time limit has passed. Bloodthirst Lv1/10: Heightens Leon's combat focus and aggression in the presence of spilled blood, granting temporary boosts to damage output and combat prowess. This is a passive skill and is uncontrollable but it does offer a Hemoportation Lv1/10: Enables short-range teleportation by briefly converting Leon's body into a liquid state, allowing him to traverse obstacles or surprise enemies. Only works if the area is covered in blood. Cost per cast 20mp.
I nodded slowly, the weight of weariness settling deeper within me as I reviewed my chosen skills. Bloodthirst, Hemoportation, Lesser Blood Sacrifice—tools of power, yes, but also reminders of the torture endured and the sacrifices yet to come. A fleeting sense of contentment teased me before fading into the familiar shadows of exhaustion and uncertainty.
The Archdemon's announcement of another impending quest cut through the fragile calm, plunging me back into a state of weariness and apprehension. The burden of constant expectation, the unrelenting demands of the pact, bore down on my already weary mind. The optimism I used to have felt like a distant memory, replaced by a sense of deep fatigue and emotional strain.
The prospect of facing yet another quest, of being pushed once more into the crucible of challenges without respite, felt overwhelming. My mental reserves were depleted, and the thought of mustering determination or resilience seemed like a distant dream. All I longed for was a moment of solitude, a chance to retreat from the demands of infernal obligations and recover what little strength remained within me.
Solitude beckoned like a distant oasis in the desert of responsibilities. I craved the stillness, the chance to mend frayed thoughts and worn emotions away from the relentless expectations and trials that defined my existence. Each quest, each demand, had chipped away at my resolve, leaving behind a weariness that ran deeper than mere physical fatigue it was also mental and spiritual damage. I felt like a cracked vase about to burst into thousands of pieces.
I yearned for time—time to breathe, time to reflect, time to heal. The weight of my burdens felt crushing, and I longed for a respite that seemed elusive amidst the ever-turning wheels of infernal machinations.
The sudden disappearance of the chair, dissolving into wisps of smoke and ash, mirrored the emptiness that had settled within me. There was no pang of loss, no lingering attachment to the infernal contraption that had been both a tool and a torment. Its absence left behind a void that echoed the weariness and detachment gnawing at my soul.
Sealing the cave with the remnants of my waning energy, I cocooned myself within crystallized spikes of blood—a makeshift barrier born from the depths of exhaustion and the need for respite. Within the protective confines of the crystalline barrier, I surrendered to the embrace of exhaustion, allowing the quiet darkness of slumber to envelop me.
The cave fell into a hushed stillness, broken only by the soft rustle of my breath and the distant echoes of memories.
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Days stretched into a quiet expanse within the confines of my cave, a sanctuary from the demands of the outside world and the weight of expectations. Motivation, elusive as ever, remained a distant specter, overshadowed by the comforting embrace of solitude. Within this cocoon of solitude, I turned inward, delving deeper into the intricacies of my skills, honing them with a meticulousness born from boredom.
The days blurred into a rhythm of practice, reflection, and quiet contemplation. Blood Holding expanded its dimensions, accommodating more within its hidden realm, Bloodthirst surged with renewed ferocity, each strike honed to a deadly precision. Hemoportation flowed smoother, a dance of controlled teleportation woven with the essence of blood. Time passed unnoticed, marked only by the rhythmic pulse of my skills strengthening. The outside world felt distant, its demands momentarily forgotten in this secluded haven of growth.
Yet, even amidst this respite, a subtle awareness tugged at the edges of my consciousness—the need for sustenance, for the lifeblood that fueled my abilities. The decision to venture out loomed closer, a reminder that even in solitude, the cycles of life and necessity persisted. A few more days, I told myself, a few more days to gather strength, fortify my skills, and steel my resolve once more. The cave, once a refuge, would soon become a launching point—a nexus from which I would step forth, renewed and prepared for whatever awaited beyond its familiar confines. Until then, I remained cocooned in quiet determination, readying myself for the inevitable journey ahead.
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The loss echoed within me, a silent ache that no amount of training or solitude could soothe. It wasn’t just a physical absence but a deeper, visceral feeling—a missing piece of my essence that left me incomplete despite the progress made in honing my skills and fortifying my abilities. In the quiet moments between skill practice and solitary reflection, I grappled with the void that seemed to widen within. It was as if a vital part of my being had been cleaved away, leaving behind a hollow echo of what once was.
The days wore on, marked by the passage of time yet tinged with a sense of lingering loss. Each skill mastered, each improvement gained, felt bittersweet against the backdrop of that internal emptiness. I searched within myself, delving into memories and emotions, seeking to understand what had been taken from me and how to reclaim it. But the answer remained elusive, a puzzle with missing pieces that defied easy solutions. The quest's aftermath lingered like a shadow, casting doubt and introspection where once there was clarity and purpose.
Leon's anger surged like a tempest, a primal force born from the depths of betrayal and exhaustion. The coldness that seeped into his bones mirrored the emptiness he felt, a gnawing void that echoed the losses suffered at the hands of others. Each theft, each deception, had chipped away at his trust and patience, leaving behind a simmering rage that now threatened to consume him whole. Life felt hollow, a cycle of giving and taking where he always seemed to be on the losing end. The promises of rewards and extensions to quests felt hollow against the backdrop of constant exploitation and betrayal. The world seemed to revel in taking from him, regardless of the cost to his well-being or dreams.
The demon's words, even if truthful about the quest's time limit, offered little solace in the face of repeated injustices. If this was fate at work I would break fate, shattering it into millions of pieces only to burn it in the flames of hell.
But amidst the smoldering embers of anger, a resolve hardened—a resolve not just to survive but to thrive, to ascend above the petty thieves and manipulators that sought to drain him. This was no mere tantrum; it was a primal roar of defiance from a soul weary of being trampled upon. The rage-fueled his determination to become a force to be reckoned with, to stand tall and crush any who dared to cross his path with ill intent.
With rage coursing through his veins like molten fire, Leon tore open the entrance to his cave, heedless of the dangers that lay beyond. The once-protective barrier of crystallized blood shattered under the force of his fury, a physical manifestation of the turmoil raging within him. The cave, once a sanctuary of solitude, now felt confining, suffocating—a prison of pent-up anger and frustration. His steps echoed with purposeful aggression as he strode into the unknown, his mind clouded by a singular focus—to confront whatever obstacles dared to stand in his path. The familiar chill of the outside world washed over him, a stark contrast to the seething heat of his emotions.
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As I confronted the trio of Red Goblins, his rage simmered beneath the surface, coiled and ready to unleash. The scene before him, with the goblins feasting upon the carcass of a Stone Tusk Boar, only fueled my determination to prove my strength and dominance. Drawing upon his Glimpse of Insight skill, I delved into the details of my adversaries still knowing that information was a source of power as well. The Red Goblins, each hovering around level 5 in their race, posed a formidable challenge on their own. However, their class as Fire Novices hinted at their elemental affinity and potential capabilities in fire-based attacks. The goblin at level two in their class likely possessed slightly more refined fire manipulation skills compared to the others. However, their lower overall levels in class suggested limitations in their abilities.
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The rush of rage blurred my senses, but I clung to the edge of control, channeling it into a deadly dance of precision and brutality. My vampiric abilities surged at my command, shaping the hardened stilettos with lethal intent as Bloodthirst fortified my body for the impending clash. As the bolts formed, charged with vampiric energy, I launched them with calculated fury, targeting the goblin closest to me. With a burst of Hemoportation, I materialized behind the startled creatures, their attention drawn to the fallen comrade, unaware of the impending strike from behind.
Their weapons turned towards the perceived threat, exposing their vulnerable backs to my waiting blades. The first goblin fell swiftly as five empowered bolts slammed into the back of its head, a strike to the brain sealing its fate after breaking through the skull. The second met a similar end, but my aim faltered with the third, only managing a non-lethal blow before being hit with a searing attack from its counterattack which didn't even leave a burn on me.
Laughter bubbled up, a manic chorus to the chaos unfolding sounding like nails on a chalkboard. The fear in the lone goblin's eyes fueled my wrath as it attempted futile escape, flames licking in desperation. With a cruel twist, I drove the stiletto into its knee, igniting a cascade of agony. The explosion of bone and sinew was both horrific and satisfying, a macabre symphony of vengeance. Its cries spurred me on, a crescendo of madness as I delivered the final blow, stomping down with a savage glee on its other knee.
The goblin's futile struggles to escape only fed my growing hunger for dominance. With grim satisfaction, I strung it up, a grim trophy to attract more unwitting prey. The cacophony of pain-filled shrieks promised more opportunities for retribution, a cycle of violence and fury spun from the depths of my rage. I did stop the bleeding of the third goblin so it wouldn't die until I had gotten its replacement.
Two Red Goblins killed Levels 4 and 5, Class Fire Novice Level 1 both Rank G gaining 40exp. Bonus exp for killing higher-level enemies 10exp. Total gained 50exp.
The newfound levels surged through me, a tangible testament to the carnage wrought and the primal satisfaction it brought. Race and class distinctions blurred in the haze of my rage-fueled triumph, both pathways to power equally enticing in this moment of raw dominance. The goblin's screams became a symphony of agony, each twist of the stiletto cruel punctuation to its torment. My focus shifted, not towards remorse or mercy, but towards leveraging every drop of pain for my gain. The screams echoed, a grim reminder to any who dared approach of the consequences of crossing paths with the wrathful predator within me.
Refilling my blood reserves became a ritual, a necessary replenishment of the blood at my command. The crimson essence pooled and spread, a macabre canvas of potential manipulation and teleportation. As I waited for more prey to heed the call of suffering, I honed my readiness, weaving strands of blood around me like a deadly web. Each placement around me gave me an advantage. Most of this was not thought about but just by pure instincts that ran throughout my body.
The echoes of agony, amplified by the goblin's screams, tethered me to that grim scene of pain and dominance. It was a twisted melody, drawing me deeper into the abyss of my rage and thirst for power. Time stretched thin, a taut thread of anticipation and impatience. The primal rage urges within me, gnawed at the edges of restraint. Each passing moment tested my resolve, a battle between the instinct to hurt and the discipline to wait since prey would come. But still, I held my ground, anchored by the symphony of torment that echoed through the clearing.
The arrival of a dozen Red Goblins, drawn by the anguished cries of their fallen comrade, marked the beginning of a new chapter in the deadly dance unfolding in the wilderness. As they gathered, a predatory gleam flickered in my eyes, a hunger for both vengeance and the thrill of battle. Fear and anger were clear on their faces as they saw the broken strung-up goblin head explode as I kicked its skull into mush.
Fully replenished, my reserves of magical power surged with readiness, a potent mix of MP and HP fueling the arsenal of skills at my disposal. The goblins, unaware of the fate that awaited them, clustered together with a false sense of numerical advantage. With a twisted smirk curling my lips, I embraced the chaos that awaited. This time, the odds were not stacked against me; they were a canvas upon which I would paint the brutality of my wrath.
Blood magic hummed in anticipation, threads of crimson weaving intricate patterns of power around me. The clearing became a battleground, the air charged with tension as both predator and prey assessed the unfolding tableau. I prepared for the onslaught. Vampiric bolts crackled to life, their deadly trajectories aimed at the unsuspecting goblins. Blood manipulation formed crimson barriers, shielding me from retaliatory attacks from their bows and arrows as I maneuvered with calculated precision. The dance of combat unfolded, a symphony of violence and strategy. Each strike, each dodge, fueled by the primal instincts driving me forward. Hemoportation became a deadly gambit, appearing and disappearing amidst the chaos, striking at vulnerable points with ruthless efficiency.
The goblins, once confident in their numbers, now faltered under the onslaught. Fear mingled with desperation in their eyes as their ranks dwindled under the relentless assault. Their fiery attacks met with calculated counters, turning their elemental prowess against them As I stood unharmed by their weak fire skills.
As the last fighting goblin fell, a primal roar of triumph escaped my lips, echoing through the now-silent clearing. The battle had been fierce, but victory was sweet, a testament to my growing power and unyielding resolve. Breathing heavily, I surveyed the aftermath, crimson hues of blood and magic mingling in the air. The screams that once filled the space had been replaced by a haunting quiet, broken only by the crackle of flames and the settling of the wounded earth beneath me.
With the surviving goblins scattering like frightened prey, their panicked flight signaling the impending arrival of reinforcements, I seized the opportunity to bolster my forces. Drawing upon the crimson reservoir within me, I fueled my recovery with ravenous hunger, replenishing my resources with the vital essence of blood.
As the life-giving fluid coursed through me, invigorating my body and mind, I turned my attention to the dark arts of summoning. Lesser Blood Sacrifice. This was the only skill I didn't fully train not wanting to summon demons inside my home, I only used the empower side of it.
With a focused intensity, I channeled my energy into the summoning ritual, invoking the ancient words and gestures that would beckon forth the denizens of the underworld. Shadows stirred, whispers of arcane power echoing through the ether as the fabric of reality trembled at my command.
Summoning two F-ranked lesser demons from the blood of the fallen goblins was a testament to both my growing power and the potency of the sacrificial ritual. As the infernal beings took shape before me, their dark forms coalescing from the essence of blood and magic, I assessed my options for their types.
Abyssal Crawlers: These grotesque creatures slither and writhe across the battlefield, their serpentine forms twisting and contorting with unnatural agility. With venomous fangs and corrosive secretions, they leave a trail of death and decay in their wake.
Dread Shades: Cloaked in darkness and mystery, Dread Shades drift through the ether like silent phantoms. Their touch drains the warmth from the living, leaving behind only icy despair and the chilling embrace of eternal darkness.
Inferno Imps: These fiery fiends revel in chaos and destruction, their bodies engulfed in flames that dance and flicker with malicious glee. With a mischievous grin and a penchant for mischief, they sow discord among their enemies with bursts of searing fire and explosive laughter.
Hellhounds: Fiery-eyed and bristling with infernal energy, these demonic canines stalk the battlefield with primal savagery. Their fur is ablaze with flames that scorch everything they touch, and their howls instill terror in the hearts of their enemies. Excellent at tracking foes.
Shadow Imps: These diminutive creatures thrive in darkness, their forms wreathed in shadows that obscure their features. With razor-sharp claws and uncanny agility, they dart through the gloom with silent grace, striking from the shadows with deadly precision.
Hellspawn Impalers: Towering monstrosities with barbed spines protruding from their twisted forms, Hellspawn Impalers strike fear into the hearts of even the bravest warriors. With thunderous footsteps and bone-shattering blows, they impale their enemies upon their jagged limbs, reveling in the carnage.
Chaos Spawn: Mutated demons with constantly shifting forms, blending features of various creatures into nightmarish amalgamations. They possess unpredictable abilities, from acidic breath to explosive transformations, embodying chaos and unpredictability.
Gnashers: Hulking, brutish demons with thick, armored hides and massive jaws filled with razor-sharp teeth. They excel in melee combat, using sheer strength to overwhelm foes.
Name: Leon (False Name, True Name Unknown)
Race: Noblesanguis Hematophage- Ancient Lv2/10 Exp:0/40
Class: Sanguine Sorcerer Initiate Lv2/10 Exp:0/40
Rank: G
HP: 228/228
MP: 225/225
SP: 206/206
STR: 33
VIT: 46
AGI: 22
INT: 42
CHS: 40
Free Points: 0/0
Error +17 N/A?????
Skills:
Active: Bite Lv9/10, Vampiric Bolt Lv5/10, Hemorrhage Lv3/10, Sanguine Surge Lv4/10, Regal Drain Lv3/10. Lesser Blood Sacrifice Lv2/10, Hemoportation Lv3/10, Blood Holding Lv2/10
Passive: Stealth Lv7/10, Bleed Lv9/10, Anesthetic LvMax, Detection Lv6/10. Lesser Poison Resistance Lv2/10, Fire Resistance Lv9/10 Rare, Pain Tolerance Lv34/50 Rare, Royal Aura Lv2/10, Bloodthirst Lv2/10
Titles:
Child of Blue Blood, Mild Madness, He Who Burns, Breaking
Traits:
Royal Blood Body, Imperial Resilience