Once at peace, once serene, a world where pristine waters had mirrored celestial skies.
Distorted by what had come from beyond, the realm had been cleaved asunder, yet remained balanced by the impermeable veil between.
But even that equilibrium had faltered, once, twice, the scales tipped just enough to shatter.
What remains is a dying world, of faded hues, marred by the taint of a writhing mass from the abyss itself.
A world where a beast of shadow coils in the remnants of a scarlet sea, sporadically rising to repel the encroaching corruption.
A world where a solitary wolf stalks across ivory waves, howling at broken skies, finding solace in its thankless task, even as it weakens and fades, sacrificed for a purpose.
A world where poisonous corruption lies dormant, patient, awaiting the moment to consume all.
***
A grand chandelier of faerie crystal casting a warm glow hung directly above, the smell of food and drink permeated the air, the opulent dining room ringing with the soft clink of cutlery upon ceramic, of utensils upon food.
His mother had informed them in advance that she would not be attending tonight, as was her want on occasion, far too engrossed in experiments and research to allow distraction. Thus, it would only be him and–
“You seem displeased Miles, is anything the matter with the food?” his father’s voice pierced the silence, drawing his attention away from the untouched steak on his plate.
With a genteel gesture, Miles dabbed his mouth before answering, “No, it’s… it’s nothing, father. It’s, it’s just–”
His father’s gaze weighed heavily upon him, “Do not meander Miles. Speak if you intend to, remain silent if you do not."
Miles swallowed, a tad nervous, “Apologies, father. It is an academy matter. My friends, all of my classmates really… they ignored me today.”
His father did not respond, a silent demand for further clarification.
Miles obliged, fidgeting with his hands as he did so, “They didn’t do, or say anything, but they ignored me as if I didn’t exist. It was… uncomfortable. I–I believe someone made them act so, and I believe it was… Sarah.”
“You two were on decent terms. Why would your cousin antagonize you?”
Miles forced a smile, as he stared at his plate, “Cousin Sarah tends to be forceful, sometimes cruel even. A few days ago, she made trouble for the entire Class H, almost getting them expelled, and I–I intervened. But it was great, I was a heroic prince! And Class H was very nice to me!”
But his father’s reaction was not what he expected. “Your mother’s influence I see? Her flawed philosophy of prioritizing individuals over the organization? Is that what inspired you to jeopardize your standing, and cause friction within your own family? Just for the sake of some hapless vermin?”
Miles was caught off guard, but eventually admitted, “Yes…?”
His father assessed him, minutes passing in uncomfortable silence, but then with impeccable grace, he lowered his utensils and dabbed at his mouth. “Since you seem to have finished with your dinner Miles, prepare yourself. We shall be leaving the estate shortly. There is something I believe you should see.”
Not having had much in the way of an appetite, Miles readily complied.
A short while later, they found themselves in a transporter limousine, speeding through the Inner City. The chauffeur today was Ricardo, a temporary replacement for Butler Alexander after his unfortunate accident.
The neon lights of the streets flashed by them, the tinted black screens of the windows blurring the scenery from view.
“You are already aware of the fragility of your position, that being in no small part the fault of myself,” his father spoke to no one in particular, eyes fixed on the passing scenery. But with the sound-proofed screen between the driver and them, it was obvious his words were intended to none-other than Miles.
His father shifted a square glass of crystal, swirling golden whiskey and a perfect sphere of ice within.
“The man who impregnated my mother, bless her soul, was a wretch of a man. An arrogant fool too full of his own superiority to see his own flaws. And the weasel had the gall to banish her once he was done with her, ruining our social standing, and forever marking me a bastard.
“Your grandmother had to leave the region, traveling all the way from the east while she carried me, so that she could return to her home here in Capital City. Although she did her best to raise me well, my background was less than pristine. That is why it is no simple thing for me to have married into the Lykaon Estate, taking your mother’s hand in marriage, especially out of love.”
His father swigged the whiskey, drinking down the liquor as if it were water, “But Senior Lykaon, your grandfather, was more generous a father than my own had ever been. Your mother’s lack of interest in politics and lobbying had him worried enough to give me a chance to prove myself, and I did so readily. I served Lykaon Industries with all I had, nothing ever too far or too much, for there is no good or evil in the light of love.”
Placing the empty glass aside, he reached out to pat Miles' head, “But do not worry my son, we will work to ensure that nothing, not my circumstances nor anything else, will ever cast a shadow upon your birthright.”
And Miles couldn’t help but nod, his expression fully serious.
It was a short while later when the limousine came to a stop, followed by a soft knock upon the privacy suite, a signal from the chauffeur. Ricardo opened their doors and ushered them out of the limousine, guiding them towards a small, everyday building.
Miles observed the simple construction where everything was perfectly ordinary. It was a far-cry from the glamorous buildings of the inner city with nothing that stood out in any way. It was just enough to be considered as average, melding into the backdrop so that it could be forgotten as soon as you would have seen it.
A simple entrance of double doors was passed by, as they traversed through dimly lit corridors, to finally enter a wide room bathed in harsh fluorescent light.
It was more of an empty hall or storage for it was sparse without furnishing or decoration.
Well, besides those that loomed along the walls like silent statues, a formidable assembly of armed militia. Clad in obsidian armor adorning the enraged visage of a wolf, and armed to the teeth with the best weaponry Lykaon Industries had to offer, they stood unmoving, casting a pall of intimidation over the air.
At the heart of this room was a circular pit that carved a hemisphere deep into the concrete floor, edges lined with a cold, metallic railing.
Drawn to the precipice, Miles followed after his father to observe its contents.
What he found were three fragile figures, once gleaming silver armor dulled to the state of common metal. Their armor bellied with engravings of fiery dragons, of pride and valor, were meaningless, for they were bound prisoners, cowering and kneeling in defeat.
Miles couldn’t help but widen his eyes for these were all Squires, Capital Knights in training!
There was also a fourth figure, an outlier that was a lone soldier. He was adorned in the same obsidian armor of the militia that surrounded the room, but shackled and on his knees. Unlike the squires however, this man seemed had been tortured to the verge of death, leaving a once-strong body bloodied and broken.
His father spoke, breaking the silence, “The three squires before you, Arya Price, Enrique Selinges, and, Horacio Warok are all suspects for the murder of Butler Alexander, by association with their superior Knight."
His heart raced with unease, and Miles could only gape in silence.
“As for the other man, he is Ronald Hayes, recently promoted Corporal to Lykaon Industries' illustrious Lupus Task Force. A man who chose to aid our rival corporation, seeking to defy and betray us to save these accused criminals. He even managed to free the Knight we captured who managed a successful escape as a result and even informed Capital Corporation of our counter-operation. This betrayal is… unforgivable.”
The moment his father finished speaking, perfectly on cue, several of the soldiers detached from their silent vigil along the wall, and marched towards the edge of the pit,, finally ominously reloaded the assault rifles in perfect unison.
“Dogs of the Draig, your hero has forced our hand,” his father intoned loudly, words resounding through the room like a death knell.
The squires seemed to pale at that, and one of them, the woman, lifted her head in despair, “No, no, please, no! Please spare us! Please! I beg of you, I have a family!”
Hearing the pitiful cry, Miles instinctively grabbed onto the edge of his father’s suit, his grip tightening.
But no mind was paid, not to him and not to the squire, “As did Alexander Ms. Price, but neither you nor your corporation seemed to mind then, did you?” and gestured to the soldiers.
In unison, a dozen rifles came to life in a deathly hum, aimed at the occupants of the pit.
The woman began to wail, hopeless crying and pleading as she screamed about justice and honor. The remaining two squires seemed to be of similar mind, for the too had lost all hope and remained silent in acceptance of their fate.
Miles’ grip was deathly now, his small knuckles whitening.
He knew his father was not wrong. He despised the Knight’s for taking the life of Butler Alexander. But this, this couldn’t be right.
He had known of the hidden wars between Lykaon Industries and Capital Corp., but this–
His father glanced at him, their eyes meeting for just a moment.
He seemed to gleam something from Miles' expression, and turned back, “A fortunate day it is Squires. I will offer you a chance at survival…” and clicked his fingers. Instantly, the shackles that had locked the squires’ hands behind them unlatched, separating into two individual bracelets over each.
Miles let out a breath he had been holding unwittingly, but–
Was it right to let them all go just like that? If they really did have something to do with the murder of Alexander?
What was... right?
He was conflicted, unsure of what to think. The feeling only worsened even more when his father continued, “Your hands are now free, and one among you Capital Dogs, stand the chance to win your life back. The task is simple, take vengeance on the traitor. Punish, torture, make him scream, all in my stead until he regrets it all. The best at the task shall be the one to be granted their freedom.”
The Squires hesitated, discipline and loyalty causing them to grapple with the dark choice offered.
Even Miles was conflicted, unable to understand the cruelty behind his father’s mercy. But, he was sure, nothing would come of this.
Although he disliked the Draig family too, the Knights and their Squires were famous for their loyalty and righteousness. There was no way the honorable Capital Court would take up his father’s offer.
As if spitting on his thoughts and expectation, the wailing woman was the one that seized the damned opportunity first.
With a guttural cry that pierced the stale air of the pit, she fell upon poor Ronald like a hellion. Her sudden, savage attack was a spark that jolted the remaining squires from their stupor as they exploded with violence and followed her lead.
In the dredges of that pit, a grotesque scene unfolded, as once 'righteous’ Squires now driven by savagery and survival instinct tore into a helpless target with unbridled ferocity.
Hands and even teeth rent flesh and tore sinew.
Like rabid beasts, the Squires fought even among themselves, each vying to be the most violent, in the hopes that they may be the one to live.
Ronald Hayes, unconscious due to the gravity of his wounds, was dragged back to cruel reality by the sudden assault. His feeble attempts at screams were stifled by the relentless brutality of his assailants, the very same he had attempted to save.
Miles was frozen, his eyes unblinking and his posture stiffened. It felt as if the reality he had known was a rug that had just been pulled out from under him.
Blood sprayed in crimson arcs, painting the edges of the pit in macabre patterns, entrails spilled forth in a sickening cascade, all pooling at the bottom of the pit in a vile testament to the true nature of man.
Miles couldn’t help but recoil at the horrifying sight before him, moving to look away, but a familiar hand fell upon his shoulder and held him firm, “As heir to be of the Lykaon, you must not falter in the face of death. This is the harshness of reality, my son. It may seem cruel, but someday, I know you will understand.”
Hesitant, his resolve faltering even at the sight of the inhumanity unfolding below, Miles was frozen in indecision, and that meant he obeyed.
His father continued to speak, gaze unwavering from the violence he had caused, “Such is the fate of heroes, for those they save and those they fight for, are often not so generous as to offer the same. They will turn on their so-called hero the moment the situation becomes inconvenient.”
Miles watched with dull eyes, his fathers words akin to a sword that slashed through his childish beliefs.
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“Never forget this Miles, to be a hero while weak is a folly that is unforgivable. You will have to sacrifice yourself and what is yours, perhaps even those that you love and never should bring harm upon.And, for what? For the sake of unworthy, ungrateful vermin of the kind that you see down below? For the greater good that doesn’t give a lick about you?
“Your mother’s intentions may be moral, but that does not change the reality that heroism is a privilege to those that hold the strength to handle the repercussions.”
At that, Miles drew in a breath. He knew those words were scathing truth, but it also gave him the strength to draw himself to his full height, still quite a bit short of his father’s shoulders. “B-But, not everyone is like those squires. Just this one incident can’t prove that all h-heroism and good is wrong! It's not always met with punishment!”
The horrifying sounds, screams, from the pit echoed through the room as if to dissuade his words.
His father watched him silently, but finally, smiled, “Good, you are not cowed,” but that smile vanished soon after, “But that does not make you any less incorrect. Hah, Heroism is right?"
"Tell me Miles, is it right that Ronald down there has to die a tortured death for attempting to save lives? And, if he had succeeded, would it have been right for Butler Alexander who was murdered in cold blood? Tell me, is it right that you who stepped up to help the helpless Class H, got punished for it?”
His father’s gaze pierced directly into his own, causing Miles' eyes to waver and fall towards the concrete floor.
Still, he argued back, “I-It’s not. It’s not right, but–but–I still don’t want to be bad. I can't be a bad prince..." Miles scrounged up the courage to lift his head again, "A-And isn’t a prosperous kingdom, one where the people are safe and injustice is punished? So that the people will know who is worthy to lead them? Righteousness and Justice has to be important too!”
“That's not entirely wrong, but curb your fantasies Miles. Butler Alexander went a bit too far with that metaphor of his. We are no established royalty of a kingdom, we are owed nothing, for we are merely the one of many vying for this 'throne'. There is nothing good about a prospering kingdom, if it is not yours.
“Righteousness? Justice? Even those most noble of morals becomes meaningless when you lack the power to handle the repercussions of your actions. Well-intentioned or not, power precedes right and wrong. I hope you do not have to learn that the hard way.”
Miles frowned, but he wasn’t defeated.
Even as he winced at the sounds of tortured screams, he said, “T-Then father, if I’m strong enough, if I have enough power, could I be a heroic prince then?”
His father paused, “I do not believe you, Miles." A shrug, "Power changes even the best of men, and you say you will hold yourself to those same principles even after you have the power to remain unchallenged?"
Miles was crestfallen by that blunt refusal.
But before his discourage could be cemented, Etan Lykaon offered him a challenge, right hand outstretched, “But, you can always prove me wrong, my son. Go ahead and prove me wrong.”
Excitement returned in full force, and Miles grabbed onto his father's hand, “Okay! I will!”
But the older he got, the more he found truth in his father’s words, and along with it, the realization that he never got to prove anything.
***
Even as Miles returned to reality, blinking away the memories, one thing stood out with haunting clarity; the steady, rhythmic beat of a once dead heart, now brought back to life.
Though it felt incomplete, slower than he ever remembered it, the repetitive pulse was still a comfort he relished. His skin felt warm, in an unusual reversal of what had been cold, and Miles found himself nostalgic of a past he had not known was long gone.
Inconsequential changes perhaps, but often taken for granted, only to be missed long after they were lost.
Though, the most valued change was the relief he felt, peace from blood-curling agony. No longer did he feel like hurling abyssal tar, no longer did merely existing feel like he was about to be ripped apart in two.
Sure, there was an instinctual undercurrent of something barely pacified, of torture paused just to be continued later, but–physically, he felt good.
For the first time over the last few days, his body felt… right, better at least, and for a moment, Miles did nothing else, allowing himself a moment of peace that had been sorely needed.
He remained still, allowing his mind to wander freely.
During unconsciousness, Miles had reminisced about his past, old memories from over a decade ago resurfacing. Perhaps it was retaliation from his own mind, against the recently implanted memories of Knight Xavier.
As for them… those memories, the remembrance of a life he hadn’t lived, of people he hadn’t cared for, it was uncomfortable.
Miles could access it all with a thought as if his own, those thoughts had even melded with his mind to some extent, but they still felt grafted and artificial.
There was even much to understand and learn there, from the techniques of the Riyan, from Xavier’s experiences with his Fae Ability, but, for some reason, Miles did not wish to indulge.
Something, perhaps the last of his morality, held him back.
There was something viscerally criminal about stealing the memories of a man. A life that had lived, cared, fought, and died, laid bare to him as if an addition to some lifeless collection.
Perhaps it was useless, a meaningless gesture made to satisfy none other than himself, but…
Even as he lay upon a floor that was cavernous rock, his eyes still closed, Miles pulled a troubled hand through his hair.
That fight with the Knight had been so much worse than that with the Hakuryuu gangsters.
It had not been another minor loss of control, where his personal emotions had gone unchecked.
No, instead of losing control himself, this time, something else that had taken control. The Beast.
A part of his mind felt freed by the fact that his inhumane actions could be attributed to something else, relieved in the knowledge that they were not orchestrated by his own self…
That same part wanted to blame the death of Xavier, the fact that he had consumed the Knight, everything, on the Beast.
But, Miles also knew that was part of him that was weak, one that forgoed responsibility for one’s actions.
He knew the truth.
Miles had wanted the Knight dead, and he had gotten what he wished for.
Should he look back at the events that passed, every single act and thought could be remembered with great clarity. None of it from the eyes of a bystander.
Miles could still remember that indomitable, endless power.
How the burning blood had granted him impossible strength.
How shadows had become his armor, and blood his blade.
How a Knight, an Epsilon, had been helpless at the feet of he who had not used a single Fae Serum or Cyberware.
And that heavenly taste–that unforgettable, ambrosial experience.
Even now, when Miles was trying to come to terms with what he had done, he felt his mouth go dry at that single thought, salivating at the mere memory of it.
It was easily curbed though, for it was not a true thirst, but merely craving.
Besides that, there was also the glaring fact that he had consumed… a soul.
If he wanted any more concluding evidence that he was an inhuman beast, he need not look further than that.
Miles let out a heavy breath. Now that he had gone from drinking blood to devouring souls, how much further could he even fall?
At the very least he didn’t find himself salivating at the thought of souls, though the experience had its own unique attraction.
It was the consumption of Xavier’s soul that had left Miles vulnerable, enough to blindly follow the Beast’s intent and invest three free attribute points in Wisdom, thus inadvertently discovering the effect of Hereditas Sanguinis (Blood Inheritance) first hand.
The Unique Skill truly inherited from the Blood it seemed, or at least the Soul, for an entire lifetime of living had become his in the span of a single fight.
Miles wasn’t sure how to feel about the skill, for it was a philosophical conundrum made real.
What made a person, a person?
Something unique to the individual? A Soul or a Spirit? Or was it merely their physical body and brain?
Or was it more mental, based on their memories from birth to death, experiences and accordingly developed concepts?
If it was indeed the latter, wasn’t this skill a gross corruption of the natural order?
Not just to whoever it was used upon, but to himself as well?
If different memories, from different people, kept entering and assimilating with his own mind, would he even be himself at the end?
Perhaps, Miles hadn’t been entirely selfless when he kept himself from peering further into the memories of the Knight.
But, he also had to admit that despite everything, despite every problem with the Beast, or all other skills, the potential that was revealed was still utterly phenomenal.
As long as Miles didn’t screw himself over again, due to something like failing to maintain Balance, something that literally nothing and no one had informed him about.
The only question was, was power gained like this, worth the cost? If what remained at the end of it was not even himself?
Perhaps that was the price of power, easy power.
Miles felt his fists tighten.
It was fine. It just meant he had to make sure that he didn’t lose himself in the act.
He exhaled a heavy breath, allowing the worries to wash past him.
The last few days had been tumultuous, a series of unexpected events one after the other.
All of it felt unreal, for it had only been a short passage of time, and yet, so much had changed.
For just a while longer, Miles continued to lay sprawled upon the floor, but soon enough the chill of the damp and cavernous rock forced him out of his rest.
Gathering his wits and blinking away his forced unconsciousness, he finally rose to a seated position, surveying his surroundings.
For a moment, Miles wondered if he was still within the cavern of the Guardian Pack, but the answer was no.
Sure, this was a cavern, but it was nothing as majestic as that had been.
It seemed quite ordinary, well, save for one curious anomaly.
The natural contours of the rugged cave around him were not entirely consistent, for along one particular side was a completely out of place, smooth metallic wall.
Even at first sight, it reminded him of the authoritarian military architecture that was most common in the City States closest to Tartarus, Underworld City or even Ginnungagap.
The metal of the wall wasn’t perfect however, far from it, for its surface was marred by a massive scar, carved or rather razed into the wall, vertically, from top to bottom. As if something or someone had slashed through the metal, it formed a slight opening, barely sufficient for someone to squeeze through.
‘Curious…’
Miles scratched a nail upon the mysterious metal wall, raising the finger to his nose.
The sheer amount of sensory data he received from that single whiff took him by surprise, almost causing him to freeze for a moment as he considered everything. This was incomparable to what he had been able to smell before, for never had his olfactory senses been this sensitive or clear.
It was more than mere aroma; it was… information.
This was perhaps only comparable to his tactile senses, for even now, the almost whispers from the wind could be felt as it moved air upon his skin.
While his sense of smell had surprised him, Miles did find the answer to his question.
The metal was ordinary steel, just plain old cold steel.
An effective deterrent for all manner of fae, but that was about it. It was rather unusual to use pure steel in construction, and the last time he knew it had been, was several centuries ago.
Then again, perhaps he was the strange one for expecting logic or common sense in a domain of a Doorway.
Rising from the floor and patting away the dust on his clothes, Miles surveyed the totality of the cavern, or more accurately, the alcove he found himself in.
It was a small, secluded area, where he was sure he would have been safe even while he had been unconscious and resting.
The hole in the wall was the only direction he could move in, and Miles wandered over, carefully peering through the gap.
He focused on his senses, waiting for the slightest hint of danger, receptive for any warning from the wind, or any unusual scent.
This was the first time Miles was actively using his olfactory senses, but perhaps due to his practice so far with his other enhanced senses, it wasn’t that difficult.
At first glance, he found nothing but darkness. Thankfully, his Vawul Senses managed to see through it, unlike the impermeable darkness of the previous cavern.
What lay beyond was a metallic expanse–a strangely designed corridor extending endlessly–devoid of life or literally anything else. The strangeness was in that the walls and the ceiling were the same cold steel, while the floor alone was… rock, an ordinary cavern floor.
‘What in the holy hells is this Domain supposed to be?’
Miles' curiosity was instantly tempered by the assault of a pungent, musky odor upon his nostrils. It was an overwhelming stench, but, as his olfactory senses had not allowed it to go overboard, it only caused some minor discomfort. He could even smell something else, intermingled with that, was another fainter waft of decay, of rot and death.
This scent was not fresh or recent, and came from a distance of several hundred meters. Information he knew somehow, from the scent alone. Even though Miles was interested as to the prowess of his enhanced sense of smell, he immediately retreated.
This rocky alcove was a location where he was offered some semblance of safety, and he had to wonder if he really wished to walk headfirst into potential danger.
Miles let out a focusing breath as he looked down at himself.
His suit, the Rumple and Bertrada original, was still mostly pristine, the hole that had been on its shoulder, having restitched itself completely.
The Lykaon Ring adorned his hand, the yin yang talisman nestled comfortably upon his chest, and even the Caucon was placed securely within his suit.
Yet, beneath this facade of normalcy, he needed... a break.
The last few days of his life had the potential to change his fate entirely, but that did not make it any less exhausting.
Deciding it would be wise to practice some meditation for a while, Miles settled himself back into the cavern, seating himself in the lotus position.
He could almost instinctively sense the nature of his Mind World, and long story short, it was not good. The last thing he wished to grapple with right now was that.
So, what Miles practiced was simple basic breathing, and while it didn’t do much, it did help him make peace with everything.
A few minutes later, feeling well enough now, Miles considered his next move.
The Quest: Welcome to Hamelin had been given a time component of sorts, but it was also not that urgent.
There was no need to rush in the search for… ‘Source Fulcrums’ or whatever the hell he was supposed to ‘purify’.
After everything with the Knight, Beast, and even Pack–that honestly sounded like the beginning of a bad joke from some folk tale–he needed a break.
For as long as he needed, for as long as this alcove remained safe, Miles would make use of what peace he could have.
Thus, with a focused inhale, Miles got to work.
First thing’s first, he needed to take stock of himself and his resources. To obtain a thorough understanding of his current state, his capabilities and skills, for even he wasn’t sure what he was capable of after everything that had happened.
So Miles did just that, calling upon the one thing that consistently presented his abilities in the most simplest of manners; the System Status.
Except this time, it turned out it wasn't so simple, and Miles could only gawk at the sight of the glitch ridden interface that flickered into existence before him.
[User: Miles Lykaon (! Pending Reward Selection !)]
[Current Form: Vawul|W̶u̸r̶k̵a̴n̵]
[Vawulan Class: F̴l̵e̶d̵g̵l̷i̴n̶g̶-P̶r̸i̶n̶c̷e̴l̶i̴n̶g̴(?̷) Lvl(?)] ?#!Error: Evolution Halted!#?
[̴W̴u̶r̵k̷a̸n̴(̵?̵)̷ ̶C̷l̸a̸s̷s̵:̷ ̸Newborn(̷?̶)̷ ̵L̵v̴l̴ ̵(̵?̴)̴]̴ U̴n̵a̶bl̴e ̷to̷ ̶Le̶ve̵l u̷p̷. Fo̴r̴m̵ Unlock Q̷ue̴s̵t̴ ̵In̶c̴om̷p̵l̷ete̸?
[Disciplines: |Haemomancy Lvl. 1| - Untrained] {+} Discipline Expansion Available. ?!New D̴i̵s̷c̵iplin̵e̵͗ ̴̤̕Se̴lec̵tion̸ ̶Halted!?
[Vawul Generation: Too sparse to detect. Please evolve further.]
[HP(Health Points): 10/10] | [Conditional Undeath] | [BP (Blood Points): 27/110]
[̵S̴P(̶S̸p̶i̸r̴i̵t̷ P̴o̶i̸n̵t̵s̶)̵:̴ 10/̴1̵0̵]̶ | [̷L̷u̴n̶a̷ ̴R̴e̷g̷e̶n̶e̴r̷a̸t̸i̴o̵n̵] | [̴M̴E̴ ̴(̵Mo̶on̴l̷i̶g̶h̸t̶ ̸E̵s̴se̵nc̴e̸)̷:̵ ̴0/̶1̵0̸]̶
{Blood Points (BP) in detail: (Personal) 10/10 + (Ripae Sanguine) BP: 17/100}
[Current Quest: Lykaon Inheritance Trial #1 - Welcome to Hamelin]
[Strength: 27]
[Endurance: 29]
[Agility: 28]
[Intelligence: 64]
[Wisdom: 40]
[Influence: 5 (+500)]
[Free Points: 10 (10 General)]
[Skills: General - {Magicae Aspectus - Uncommon}, {Mind World - Rare}, {Nameless Movement Art - Unique}]
Haemomancy - {Ripae Sanguine (Blood Bank) - Inferior}, {Sanguis Ardeat (Blood Burn) - Inferior}, {Sanguine Aspectus - Common}, {Hereditas Sanguinis (Blood Inheritance) - Unique}]
[Titles: Discredited Heir of Lykaon Industries (+1000 to Influence) (50% Penalty in Accordance with FL-VV-5019)
Newborn Vawul (+5 to all stats but Wisdom, Vawulan Senses.)
?̵Newborn?̶ ̶(̷M̸i̷n̸o̶r̴ W̷u̸r̴k̶a̷n̴ S̸e̶n̴s̵e̴s)
Cursed {First: Minor Thirst}, {Second: The Beast Within}, {Third: Sol’s Hatred}
C̵u̵r̴s̸e̶d̴?̶ {̶F̸i̶r̷s̷t̵:̴ ̴M̴i̴n̴o̵r̴ ̷H̸u̴n̴g̶e̶r̴}̵
Conditionally Undead (Granted by the Ankh, the Key of Life. As long as the user is not burnt to ashes or decapitated, any injury will heal given time. It is still possible to become comatose due to total blood loss.)
(Un)Balanced???
Vessel of The Beast Within (Sealed) | V̶e̸s̷s̴e̴l̵ ̶o̵f̶ ̶T̶h̶e ̴L̷u̷p̴i̴n̴e̴ ̷S̶o̶u̷l̵ (̴S̵e̴a̶l̵e̸d̵)
Last True Son of Lykaon (Inactive)]
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