Darian stared at the God’s wrist, his hunger bubbling to the surface.
“A tempting offer, is it not?” Raphael smiled. “Palintross begged for me to do this while you were at the House of Innovation. But whatever the results of this become, they will stay between the two of us.”
“Are you sure about this?” Darian asked, his fangs emerging. If Oliver’s blood smelled that sweet, I can’t imagine what aroma a God’s blood will have. He raked his tongue across his pointed teeth. Or the taste.
“I am.” Raphael extended his arm. “And do not fear hurting me. While I can’t heal the wound Atarax gave me all those years ago, I can heal anything else done to me with ease. In fact.” He tapped his staff on the ground, and a green aura enveloped his body. “I just cast the skill Immediate Regeneration. Now any wounds I suffer for the next ten minutes will heal instantly. So, if you wish to have it, my blood is yours.”
Darian crept forward and took the God’s arm. “But why offer it to me?”
The God laughed. “What better gift for a vampire than blood?”
He’s got me there. Darian lowered his head. The God’s flesh smelt of pine forests and autumn leaves, the scents reminding him of home. But then his fangs sank into Raphael’s wrist, and the air filled with the all too familiar scent of blood.
It was by far the sweetest thing Darian had ever tasted.
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God Blood consumed: +100 Race XP
Current Race XP: 293/300
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He hardly noticed the notifications as he savored the exotic flavor.
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Temporary skill gained: The Law of Winter
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If he hadn’t already filled himself with animal blood, Darian wasn’t sure he could stop himself. But with a monstrous effort, he pulled away. Standing there, blood still fresh on his lips, he watched as Raphael’s wrist healed.
“See?” he waived his arm in an arc. “I’m all better. And by the look on your face, my blood must have been different than your usual offering.”
“Different,” Darian mumbled. “That’s one way to put it.” He licked his lips. He wanted more. He wanted it all.
“What skill did you absorb from my blood?” Raphael asked. “I’ve been curious how the system decides which skill to take, but I have my theories.”
Darian looked at Raphael’s throat. The God might have powerful skills, but this close and with his weakened body, Darian’s fangs could rip him apart with ease.
“Oh,” Raphael said, stepping back. “It seems I tempted you a touch too far.”
Shaking the dark thoughts from his head, Darian clenched his fists. “I learned to control my thirst during my time with Fria. But certain people’s blood, it…calls to me.”
“I see.” Raphael eased onto a nearby bench. “You’ve told me about the girl and this Oliver fellow, and I think I know why their blood sings to you.”
Darian, still doing his best to control himself, stepped back and leaned against the wall. “It’s their unique skills, isn’t it?”
The God grinned. “Very good. That is my assumption.” He ran a finger through his leafy hair. “The system does what it can to keep us alive, and this includes modifying our bodies and needs. My powers are stronger within forests, and so this fey body of mine desires root and bark. If I go long without spending time amidst nature, my body diminishes. And since you can absorb skills from blood, your body craves the strongest skills it can take.” He leaned forward, his staff tucked into his elbow. “Which brings me back to my original question. Which skill did you receive from my blood?”
Darian brought his menus up and displayed the temporary skill.
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The Law of Winter
Radius: 400 feet around caster
Duration: 1 hour
* This skill summons a small ice storm on your current location. All enemies in range will be assailed by an endless supply of (minor) frost elementals, ice wolves, and storm crows. If one of the summoned creatures dies, it will be immediately replaced by another. Additionally, all frost damage is tripled within the storm, and all ice-based magic is more powerful. All fire skills within the storm are significantly weakened, and healing skills are less effective.
* This skill cannot be used at the same time as The Law of Summer or the Law of Spring.
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He blinked at the skill, not sure if he was reading it right.
Stolen novel; please report.
“Hm,” Raphael squinted at the skill’s description. “I believed it would select my most powerful unique skill, but it seems to have chosen one at random.” He sighed. “This needs further testing.”
“That’s…not the strongest one?”
Raphael laughed. “Far, far from it. It’s honestly one of the weakest. Only useful in taking out large groups of weak enemies. Anyone over the level of fifty would likely be able to survive it without issue.”
“Will I get skills like that as I advance?”
“You will. And I’m sure you will have several that put even my most powerful skills to shame.” He pulled himself to his feet, his teeth clenched as his legs began to wobble. “But enough about skills. You need to be off. Zander will start his forward assault soon.”
Darian followed the God to the door, pausing before he pushed it open. “If the Aspirant is an enemy, I will kill them. But what should I do if they are a prisoner, but don’t want to leave with me?”
Raphael thought about this for a moment, then looked into Darian’s eyes. “Then you simply must make them.”
“Your plan of me turning the Aspirants into vampires, how many do I need to turn for it to work.”
“Hard to say,” Raphael replied. “Three may be enough, but four would be ideal. Though know that some you must turn by force.”
Darian pushed the door open, fake sunlight stinging his eyes. “I guess we should get on with this.”
“Yes,” Raphael said. “For this is an important night. One that will see the world forever changed.”
***
Zander walked toward the clearing, Raphael’s army waiting in the forest behind him. They numbered only a few hundred, yet he was confident in their abilities. Training with that brutish orc had seen their warriors gain new skills, and he always had faith in the power of the dryads and their spells. Yet he could sense deep fear coming from them. All fey were linked to the fey realm, and that is where their souls would return for rebirth once they died.
But not them.
The fey queen had cursed all her outcasts with true death. Even now he could feel the brand she left on his soul. Death would mean the end of them, just as it was for the mortal races. Many of Zander’s fellow fey had struggled with this fact, but he did not. Death or not, he only believed in one thing.
Victory.
His pulse quickened as he spotted the gargantuan fort ahead. It stuck out like an ulcer on the mountainside, its dark spires clawing at the starless sky. He would revel in destroying such an ugly sight.
But his battle with the queen had taught him that despite his strength, there was always someone stronger. He thought about Raphael’s newest curiosity, the vampire Darian. He’d heard…dark things about the boy from some of his fellow satyrs. But he trusted Raphael’s judgment. Though he wondered how his friend could have such faith in one man.
“Either way,” he said to himself. “I’ve got a job to do.”
***
Oliver walked the fortresses walls, his lungs filling with the chill night air. Fresh snow coated the field beyond, ice crystals glinting within it like a sea of jewels. He’d taken to walking at night ever since his time in that accursed swamp. And being back among the ranks of the undead, it was almost like he never left.
The arch lich had given him a position within the cult, just as Oliver requested. But Oliver wished his demonic handler had told him the demon God and the lich cult were already allies. Seeing demon forged weapons in their armory had been quite the shock at first. But the arch lich didn’t seem to know Oliver was one of their agents. And having delivered the Soul of Damnation to him, the arch lich was quick to forget Oliver even existed. He spent all his time in the inner sanctum with the artifact, testing the limits of its power. Victoria had been too weak to use the divine jewel to its full potential, but the arch lich was far stronger than her.
Speaking of Victoria.
Oliver shivered. He’d heard from the men at the southern fort that some kind of madman had carved his way through their ranks. Some pale faced, white haired “demon” who’d ripped out men’s throats. Oliver knew of only one person who fit that description, and thinking about him chilled his bones more than the surrounding winter air.
He’d fought the monster once back in the swamp and survived, but that had been partially with luck. If they fought again, Oliver knew he stood little chance of winning. But there is no way he can get to me here. Not with the lich cults army or the dwarven mercenaries in the way.
“Ah, and just when I was thinking about you, dear friend,” Oliver called, noticing Sven standing ahead.
The old dwarf groaned. “Mr. Swink,” he said, tearing his eyes away from the empty field.
Oliver joined him, his gloved hands cold against the stone edge of the battlement. “Standing watch?”
The dwarf eyed the rows of skeleton archers that lined the walls. “I prefer someone with…fresh eyes watch the western approach.”
“Isn’t that what underlings are for?” Oliver looked into the courtyard. There were dozens of tents spread out, arranged all in neat rows. He wasn’t sure how many dwarves were down there, but it had to be at least a hundred.
Sven shrugged. “I’m giving them the night off. The battle at the southern fort still wears on them.”
“Psh.” Oliver waived a dismissive hand at the dwarf. “They should get over it. We’re about to be at war, and that means they’re bound to see worse.”
“Be that as it may, I—” the dwarf stopped and turned sharply. “There’s a man approaching.”
Oliver followed the old dwarf’s gaze. “Is that a satyr?” he asked. He’d only seen them in picture books he stole as a child.
“It is.” Sven backed away and began yelling at the undead and living alike.
Oliver stared down at the lone goatman. He must have lost his mind, coming here alone. The satyr spread his legs and fell into a fighting stance, one Oliver had seen some of the monks back home do. Then his fist began to glow bright orange, the air around him shimmering. Well whatever he’s doing, it won’t matter from this distance. He smirked. What was one man going to do?
But then the world flashed, bright like after a lightning strike, and the entire wall to Oliver’s right burst apart.