Tirin delicately trailed her finger across the faded map, her intent gaze searching for the perfect location to meet her coven's needs. They required a place abundant in ambient mana to sustain their growth, yet it had to remain hidden, far from prying eyes and neighboring settlements.
This marked the fourth time they had to uproot themselves. Each time they settled in a new place, the natural balance of the area was disrupted, granting them only a few decades of anonymity before discovery became inevitable. A sigh of regret escaped her lips as she absentmindedly scratched her itching hand.
Once, when she was fleeing from the ruthless inquisitors, she had stumbled upon an ideal location for her blood coven. It was an ancient fortress nestled deep within a gorge at the edge of the Evion kingdom. The gorge lay concealed, nearly invisible to the untrained eye, obscured by the sheer cliffs that almost touched, creating a shadowy sanctuary for her blood mages.
Momentarily, she allowed the map to slip from her thoughts and moved towards a narrow window. The only sounds in her chamber were the frightened whimpers and the soft shuffle of her steps. The itching sensation intensified, and her hand instinctively moved to find relief. Her gaze shifted to the place she had called home for decades.
The small fortress overlooked a narrow expanse, its rocky walls pockmarked with holes that once served as fertile hunting grounds. Since their arrival, her initiates had tirelessly hunted day and night, preying on beasts and creatures of death and darkness. Their powers had soared as they cleared the catacombs that had long haunted the dreams of nearby villagers.
However, as always happened, the relentless use of blood magic began to take its toll on the area. Blood mana was not native to this plane; it could not be found without the aid of magic, but when practitioners delved into blood magic, everything around them started to transform, becoming something altogether different. The pervasive influence of the crimson energy tainted everything it touched.
Blood crystals began to sprout, saturating the environment with even more blood mana. Tirin even caught sight of a few of her sisters harvesting these crystals through the window. While these crystals were a precious resource, vital for spells and experiments, they also heralded the beginning of the end. When one of her sisters spotted the first cluster of blood crystals, it was a signal for all of them to depart.
Soon, streams of blood mana began to take shape, drenching the dark gorge in an eerie red light. These streams gradually swelled into rivers, and their otherworldly light, resembling a pulsing heart, shone like a beacon to those who hunted them.
Flesh abominations had already started emerging near the neighboring settlements. These creatures were infamous, their grotesque appearance and insatiable hunger serving as a clear indication of the presence of blood mages. Even the local animals and beasts began to exhibit traits associated with blood magic, displaying heightened resilience and newfound abilities. However, the one thing that touched all who came into contact with the blood was... madness.
"Kill him!" a sinister voice whispered.
"No, use him! Abuse him!" Another voice slithered through her mind. "He is yours for the taking, helpless, waiting to bring you pleasure."
"Hmm, maybe we should tear out his skin and let his blood flow like a fountain of red wine," a third voice added succinctly.
"Oh, that is a good idea! Or she'd better use the spell that quickens the heart until it explodes in a shower of meat and blood!" The voices grew stronger, competing in a chorus of lust, escalating into a cacophony that drowned out all other thoughts.
"Blood!"
"Blood!"
"Blood!" The voices crowded her mind, clamoring for attention, pushing her toward violence, pleasure, and catastrophe.
"SILENCE!" Her voice cracked like a whip, shattering the oppressive silence of the cramped chamber. The voices didn't immediately cease, but she could finally think clearly. Her familiar worked diligently, striving to shield her mind from the intrusive voices. The blood siphon, a creature prized by blood mages for its unique abilities, was invaluable.
These creatures didn't merely feed on ambient mana like regular spirit guides; they also consumed blood energy. With their draining ability, they could mitigate the effects of extensive spellcasting and alleviate the torment that plagued blood mages. Their remarkable affinity for mind magic enabled them to assist their masters in shielding their minds from such voices.
Yet, even though the Blood siphons were indispensable for blood mages, they were ultimately insufficient. Not even these precious creatures could withstand the relentless power of the blood. In the end, everyone was overwhelmed... and transformed into something else.
And Tirin felt it. She was near. Her time was up.
She had fiercely battled the seductive pull of power for nearly two centuries, channeling any residual energy into her spirit guide. She diligently studied mind magic, fortifying her defenses, and when her affinity reached its limits, she went on wild quests for rare artifacts and forgotten knowledge. Even with all her efforts, she had merely extended the boundaries of her sanity.
The itching grew more excruciating, prompting her to remove her gloves in a desperate bid for relief. When she revealed her charred flesh, she heard muffled moans of distress coming from her captive. She cast furious eyes upon the man bound to the chair, but he averted his gaze, fixing it instead on the vacant chair beside him. Once it held his sister, but now she was reduced to mere lumps of flesh.
Tirin had been conducting experiments on the girl when one of her episodes had occurred. Her spirit guide had failed to suppress the voices, and they had taken control. She couldn't recall the details of what had transpired, but when her mind cleared, the room was bathed in scarlet from the blood mana, and her core had exulted in both joy and satiety while the girl had been reduced to desiccated fragments.
Tirin fiercely scratched her scarred torso with concentrated desperation. The itching momentarily subsided, only to return with greater intensity. Her hands then rose to her neck. Her elongated fingernails carving bloodied furrows into her uneven skin. A moan of perverse pleasure escaped her lips, swiftly giving way to despair as she felt her entire body ablaze with overwhelming sensations.
She had to act; it was not enough! She scraped her cheek, leaving blood smeared beneath her nails. Blood! No! Yes! That was the solution! No! Blood! Yes! But she shouldn't! She had no choice, though...
The voices crooned in delight as her fingers left her mutilated flesh, contorting into arcane gestures. Her deformed lips uttered harsh and malevolent incantations, steeped in higher magic. Her hands radiated a crimson glow, and the man began to scream. His agonized cries reverberated throughout the chamber, yet Tirin found herself smiling. The man's flawless skin started losing its hue, and motes of red light coursed between the two of them.
Relief surged through her body as the life energy flowed in, alleviating the incessant itch and causing the voices to howl in delight, urging her to drain more. More! She yearned for more, but not too much. She still required him; she hadn't yet perfected her new spell. Just a little more. The crimson light intensified, blinding her until she struggled to keep her eyes open.
"More!"
"Just a little more!"
"Yes, yes! It feels so good!"
"Blood! It's never enough!"
The voices clamored for more, and she was compelled to oblige. Pouring additional mana into her spell, she felt her body brimming with vitality. She felt strong, powerful, and healthy, with any hint of weakness vanishing. The itching was a distant memory, the constant pull of stretched skin a mere annoyance. She was finally well, truly healthy.
Her elated thoughts were abruptly interrupted by an insistent pulling sensation, but she didn't allow it to distract her from her spellcasting. The voices exulted in her decision, clamoring for more blood, more blood.
Her fractured mind betrayed her, causing her to stumble and disrupting the spell. The red light diminished, and the man slumped back in his chair, unconscious. Her hands groped blindly for support, finding solace in her cabinet full of jars, each containing precious resources for her experiments, amassed over decades of meticulous searches.
She took a deep, steadying breath. Her heart raced, a reminder of how dangerously close she had come again. If not for her spirit guide, she would have succumbed to the voices, doing their bidding until she had exhausted herself, until she had been transformed...
Placing a hand on her pounding heart, she felt it beating so rapidly that she feared it might burst from her chest. She remained motionless for long minutes, terrified that the slightest movement would reawaken the voices.
A gentle tap on the door jolted her to attention, prompting her to hurry to the table with the map and retrieve her gloves.
"Sister?" a tentative voice called from beyond the door.
"One moment!" Her own voice sounded winded and harsh. With trembling hands, she hastily donned her gloves and placed her veil over her cloak, obscuring her ruined face.
"Come in," she called, and a young woman with flawless skin and doe-like eyes entered the room. Her steps were light and hesitant, but upon sensing the blood mana, her eyes turned predatory and lustful. She barely managed to restrain herself, and Tirin noticed the girl's blood siphon materialize. In its effort to shield its master from being overwhelmed, it revealed its true form.
Like most blood siphons, it had assumed Syrilla's likeness. These creatures were unsettling to behold, lacking the essential features needed to be convincing doppelgangers, namely, skin. They were walking skeletons, adorned with flesh and blood, but little else.
Syrilla coughed, struggling to regain her composure.
"Sister, we've discovered a woman wandering just outside our wards. She was apprehended and sent to the dungeon. We thought you'd want to inspect the prisoner yourself." The woman's voice faltered several times as she attempted to maintain her composure, but her eyes betrayed her.
So young, yet already teetering on the brink of madness. "What could she want so close to the fortress?" Syrilla pondered, genuinely perplexed. Nobody ventured so far into the wasteland, especially not by accident.
"She claimed to be gathering herbs. We have no real cause for concern. The woman is only level 13, and she's quite elderly," Syrilla waved her hand dismissively. However, Tirin's unease was growing with each passing moment.
"Sister, forgive me, but are you as oblivious as you seem? How could a level 13 elder navigate through the woods infested with flesh abominations and then cross the wasteland to reach us?" Her irritation got the better of her, and her words lashed out like a whip, causing the younger woman with her smooth, unblemished skin to fidget uncomfortably.
Out of patience, Tirin commanded, "Guide me to her!" She left the unconscious man in her chamber and followed the winding stairs down to the dungeon. With each step, she keenly felt the ache in her bones and the agonizing stretching of her skin, sending sharp stabs of pain coursing through her ruined body.
By the time she reached the damp, gloomy dungeon, any relief she had felt from using her magic was long gone. Two sisters stood guard, armed with their focus crystals and staffs. They bowed respectfully as she arrived and stepped aside.
Stolen from its original source, this story is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.
Syrilla followed closely, attempting to reassure her and defend the actions of their inept sisters. "Elder sister, please do not worry. We thoroughly examined the woman. Our magic cannot be deceived. It must have been sheer luck that allowed her to come this far unscathed."
Tirin was tired of listening to her excuses. As they walked the narrow corridor, desperate hands reached out to them through the enchanted bars of dark steel. With a murmured incantation, the hands began to spasm and withdrew back into the darkness.
She couldn't help but emit a blissful moan as her health points temporarily increased, and her itching subsided momentarily, affording her the time to regain her composure and reprimand the young woman.
"All the luck in the world couldn't help a healthy person reach the wasteland, let alone a decrepit old woman! No magic is foolproof. There's always a way to deceive and obscure." Syrilla bowed her head in acknowledgment, but Tirin detected a hint of defiance. She had the urge to attack the woman, to mar her alluring skin, to disfigure and scar the facade of youth and beauty.
"Yes!"
"Attack!"
"Maim her! Taste her blood! Savor it!"
"Attack!"
"Cripple the pesky little girl!"
Tirin stopped in her tracks and drew a deep breath. The voices had escalated into a crescendo of viciousness and violence, and it required all of Tirin's strength not to succumb to the bloodlust they incited. Syrilla remained still and silent, recognizing Tirin's internal struggle. It was no secret that the elders of the coven grappled with controlling their darker impulses, a constant battle with their inner demons. The younger generation understood that during moments like these, it was best to remain quiet and inconspicuous to avoid becoming targets for the elders' wrath.
Once Tirin had managed to regain her composure, she inquired about the location of the woman's cell. The younger sister pointed to a shadowy alcove at the far end of the corridor. Tirin paid no further attention to the younger sister and approached the cell.
The stone embedded in the lock of the cell emitted a faint glow, prompting Tirin to retrieve an amulet hanging around her neck and place it atop the lock. She heard a soft click, and the door swung open.
Within the cell lay a wretched figure on a small mound of straw. The elderly woman, with skin as fragile as yellowed paper, rose with a groan. Her twisted fingers clung to bony knees, and with considerable effort, she managed to stand upright. The old crone barely reached Tirin's midriff, her hunched back resembling one of the flesh abominations. Her nose almost scraped against the dirty floor, and she placed a hand on her back.
"The years haven't been kind to me," the old woman remarked with an unexpectedly cheery voice. Tirin immediately analyzed the woman, wanting to see what she was dealing with.
Name: Virna
Health points: 130
Mana: 180/180
Level: 13
Race: Human
Age: 82
Profession: Herbalist
Class: None
Humans stand out as the most populous and adaptable race. While some races may possess inherent magical abilities, superior strength, or extraordinary longevity, humans rely on their inherent versatility to navigate the diverse landscapes and challenges of Helios. Their broad affinities and capacity for learning quickly have allowed them to thrive in nearly any environment or occupation.
Skills:
Cooking
Level: 24
Storytelling
Level:12
Gardening
Level: 8
Alchemy
Level:3
Herbalism
Level: 31
Weaving
Level: 10
Foraging
Level: 6
Mana Manipulation
Level 4
Attributes: +5 per level
Strength: 6
Constitution: 13
Dexterity: 8
Willpower: 11
Intelligence: 15
Charisma: 12
Patron: None
Blessings: None
Tirin hummed as she assessed the unimpressive human before her. If she had harbored suspicions before, they were now solidified into a conviction that something was amiss. A woman without any skills or abilities to defend herself against the perils of this region wouldn't survive for long.
"Who are you?" Tirin demanded, her voice carrying a note of authority. The woman's face broke into a smile, revealing a gap-toothed mouth.
"Thankfully, you're not as gullible as your sisters. You were a good choice when I selected you," the old woman replied cryptically, leaving Tirin bewildered. Her words hinted at some connection between them, a connection that Tirin couldn't recall or comprehend.
The woman's gap-toothed grin sent shivers down Tirin's spine, and an ominous warning resonated within her core. It couldn't be, could it? Doubts and questions swirled in her mind, feeding the voices that clamored for attention.
"Kill her and be done with it."
"Bathe in her blood!"
"Blood."
"Does it matter who she is? Kill her!"
"Carve her open!"
"Blood!"
The voices crowded her thoughts, and she observed the woman's smile broadening with apparent satisfaction. It was as if she could sense what was happening inside Tirin's mind. Her spirit guide remained strangely silent, seemingly reluctant to reveal itself in the presence of the old woman, further fueling the cacophony of voices.
"Who... Who are you?" Tirin stammered, attempting to drown out the voices. The woman offered no response, only continuing to smile more brightly.
Before Tirin could investigate further, the woman's smile waned, and her body seemed to elongate, her limbs becoming elegant and slender. Her hunched back straightened, and her tattered clothes transformed into a luxurious crimson cloak. Her skin turned alabaster, devoid of any imperfections. However, as her face began to change, a web of red rubies materialized, obscuring her true visage.
Tirin watched in horrified realization as the transformation unfolded before her, and she recognized who stood before her. Even before the Goddess could utter a word, Tirin fell to her knees in supplication. All thoughts of pain and discomfort fled as her forehead touched the damp floor of the dungeon, and she prayed fervently for forgiveness.
She felt the Mistress's aura bearing down upon her, and her core quaked under the onslaught, almost cracking in the face of the overwhelming power of the Blood Mistress. Distant cries echoed as the aura cascaded over the fortress, and for a brief moment, everything seemed to freeze, as if the entire world stood in awe of her might. No noise, movement, or trace of magic could be detected.
Tirin remained still, her body trembling uncontrollably, her teeth seemingly clattering on their own. Gradually, the aura receded, and the Blood Mistress took a step forward.
"I am somewhat disappointed. Your coven has declined since my last visit," the Mistress remarked, her words causing Tirin's body to shudder violently. She felt utterly powerless before the Mistress's presence.
"M-Mistress, I am deeply sorry. I will accept any punishment you deem appropriate," Tirin stammered. The Mistress was right; she was a worthless leader, a weak woman barely able to sustain herself, let alone guide an entire coven. She felt deserving of whatever punishment awaited her.
"I see your upbringing shines through even after all these years. Tell me, how long has it been since I rescued you from that fire mage?" The Mistress’s voice seemed to embrace her, giving her comfort but also making Tirin feel deeply unsettled, as though she were letting a predator too close to her neck.
"217 years, Mistress. I will forever be grateful for your... kindness," Tirin replied, though the word "kindness" seemed inadequate to describe the Mistress's actions. The Goddess laughed, and Tirin heard her mutter, "kindness, yes, let's call it that."
Hasty footsteps sounded outside the cell, and Syrilla, along with the two guards, burst into the room.
The three newcomers entered the cell and watched the scene with stupefied expressions. The Blood Mistress turned to acknowledge the sisters, but they stood there incomprehensibly, unable to grasp the nature of the entity before them.
The Goddess spared them only a brief moment before she raised her hand into a fist, causing the three sisters to explode into a mist of blood. Tirin couldn't suppress a whimper, her entire body feeling as if it were beyond her control.
The blood mist condensed and formed a small red cloud that floated toward the Goddess. Two thin streams separated from it, and the Goddess inhaled the bloody remains of her coven sisters. When the cloud vanished, the Blood Mistress sighed contentedly.
"Your fixation has clouded your judgment.” She began as if nothing had happened. “Your ceaseless pursuit has led to a complete neglect of your duties. Your new initiates are inadequately trained, and your elders turn too soon, failing to guide the younger generation," the Goddess declared, passing judgment with an even tone that neither expressed satisfaction nor disappointment.
"You are correct, Mistress. I have neglected my responsibilities for far too long. I deserve punishment," Tirin acknowledged. She knew that she had let her obligations to the coven fall by the wayside for decades, consumed by her own struggles and ambitions. She had allowed her elder sisters to handle the myriad demands of leading a coven.
"I know you've been bred for servitude and obedience, but I don't require a meek creature at this moment. RISE!" The Blood Mistress's command froze Tirin's blood, causing her muscles to spasm and her bones to tremble as her body lifted off the floor, moving on its own accord under the Goddess's command.
"You know I could fulfill your desire..." Tirin couldn't help but gaze up at the Goddess, her desire and longing evident in her eyes. "I could. But I won't. Why would I?" The Blood Mistress's words trailed off, but their impact hit Tirin like a sledgehammer. She looked at the Goddess with naked desire, and words escaped her mouth before she could stop herself.
"You would have my unwavering loyalty and submission," Tirin confessed, her ambition for her ultimate goal overwhelming all other considerations, the voices, her duties, and even the deaths of her three sisters, whom she had known for decades. The Blood Mistress tsked in displeasure.
"I thought I already had those. I saved your life, after all. I bestowed magic upon you, provided you with the means to exact revenge on that depraved mage, and granted you the power to establish your own coven. And still, you yearn for more?" The Blood Mistress shook her head in disappointment, her red rubies flashing ominously. "You mortals are so greedy."
Tirin wanted to fall to her knees again and beg for forgiveness, but she feared that doing so might further anger the Goddess.
"You are, of course, right, Mistress. I am a greedy and weak individual who succumbed to her ambitions. I will do my utmost to rectify my wrongdoings," Tirin admitted, striving to convey her remorse. The Goddess nodded in satisfaction.
"Good. That is good. Now, let's get down to business," the Goddess declared as she circled the cell like a vulture circling its prey.
"You will relocate your coven to the Talmar continent. Find a suitable location near the kingdom of Altia," the Goddess commanded, leaving Tirin astonished. In all her years as coven leader, the Goddess had approached her only a few times, always with tasks tailored to her specialized abilities. This was the first time the Goddess had directly involved herself in coven affairs.
Nevertheless, Tirin bowed obediently. "It will be done," she replied succinctly. If the Mistress wanted her coven to move to another continent, then so be it, regardless of the challenges it might pose.
"Good. Now, there is another matter. Recently, I encountered an individual with powers that even restrict my abilities. It was quite peculiar and intriguing at the same time. I was so intrigued that I bestowed upon him a wreath, a rather generous one, I must say, so I could maintain a connection with him and monitor his progress," the Goddess kept circling around her, wrapped in her own thoughts as if she were speaking to herself, with Tirin as a mere spectator. Her aura had risen once more, and ethereal wisps enveloped Tirin's body in a tight embrace, almost suffocatingly close.
Tirin stood stoically, her attention fixed on her Mistress as she spoke. "The connection was formed, I felt it. But as soon as I left his side, the connection was severed. I made several attempts to reestablish it, all in vain. I have a suspicion that this man is an agent of someone, and there are plans at play, plans I need to unravel," the Goddess explained. She stopped her pacing, locking eyes with Tirin in a manner that made her want to cower.
"I need you to find that man!" The sheer force of her words seemed to arch Tirin's back, as though she were grappling with a raging inferno.
"It will be as you command..." Tirin stammered, but then a thought struck her. "But how am I to locate the man without some kind of trail? I need blood... or something, anything belonging to him." Tirin was desperate to please her Mistress and fulfill her command, but she was puzzled as to how to proceed.
The Blood Mistress huffed and paced as if in distress. "I don't know! You must find a way. I may have discovered a lead... But..." Tirin furrowed her brow as she observed her Mistress in this state. She looked almost... human.
"I am unwilling to release the seekers. They leave destruction in their wake, and their release exacts a steep price. As for Tychos, he may hold the key to locating that man. His proximity to him is suspicious, and when I questioned him, his long-winded tales were riddled with lies. As if I wouldn't discern his deceit. The little trickster is in over his head," the Goddess elaborated.
Tirin was intrigued. Who was this man who had captured her Mistress's attention to such a degree that she contemplated unleashing the seekers? Her curiosity was piqued, and she considered various methods to locate this individual.
"If only I had a drop of his blood," Tirin mused aloud, her thoughts slipping past her lips. The Blood Mistress whirled around, as if suddenly recalling that she was not alone in the dark cell.
"That would be ideal. Yes. Maybe? Hmm..." The Goddess mused, lost in thought before she continued speaking.
"Prepare for the relocation of the coven. I will aid in crossing the dark sea by providing you with a portal. Investigate other means to find this man, perhaps through the use of mind magic. You possess that branch of magic as well. I will attempt to locate him through alternative methods," the Goddess instructed, coming to a halt in the center of the cell.
"I will contact you shortly. Be prepared," she added. Tirin obediently lowered her head and knelt once more.
"It will be done, Mistress," Tirin replied.
"Let blood rain down and drown the unfaithful," the Goddess whispered.
"Let blood rain down and drown the unfaithful," Tirin repeated with fervor.
With the Goddess's departure, Tirin remained in prayer for a while longer. Then, with a determined expression on her disfigured face, she rose to her feet. She would not fail her Mistress; she would find that man.