Miles was still crouching amidst the branches of the Hallow’s oak, his eyes flickering with depthless darkness and blinding light.
Unsealing the Beasts.
Something similar had happened once before, a complete unsealing of the Beast Within.
At least this time around it seemed to be only (partial). Perhaps that explained why there was no ebony smoke fuming out of his pores, falling over his back in a cloak of living shadows.
And yet, as the Beasts remained within him, unable to leave physique as they would have had they been completely freed, somehow this seemed worse.
The blood in his veins surged with fire and ice, searing and freezing both at the same time. His heart was beating in struggling bursts, as if forced to come to life. This physical pressure combined with the supernatural force that had allowed his undead blood to flow, caused the circulation to strain his blood vessels to their utmost limits.
Each palpitation burned his veins, agonizing, filling him with immense, endless energy. It was mostly unfamiliar, lustrous, lunar-like and predatory. The little that he recognized carried the tell-tale flavor of what could only be Blood Burn. The enhancement from the skill seemed to stack with each painful heartbeat, as if mimicking the optional skill he had once ignored.
The primal energies roared through his being, and Miles felt his form shift to accommodate it.
His lips curled, making space for elongated incisors that he did not possess. He felt his fingers bend, as if to hold invisible, intangible objects, as if… they were not hands but claws.
The pain of the super-charged blood flow exceeded its limit, forcing Miles to double over in agony.
He could hear his heartbeat, echoing within his skull. He could almost feel his veins bulging, and... he could feel tears trickling down his face. No, not tears. Blood.
Miles's control shattered like a broken dam, and the next thing he knew his bent legs had launched him into the air in a magnificent leap.
The cold air buffeted his free fall, a painful, chilly balm applied over the whipping of branches and leaves. The air hissed in his ears and Miles struggled with what remained of his reason, trying to grasp at whatever tree he ventured close enough to, but none could hold his weight and snapped painfully into his suit.
Panic began to set in when he was only a few moments away from reaching the ground. Even Conditional Undeath might have trouble recovering from being splattered all over the ground.
It was only when he stared directly at his foreseen fate that Miles realized there was something directly below him. At the end of his free-falling trajectory was one of the Veilbound.
Something to soften his landing then, he might survive just yet. However, before Miles could reach the ground in a sickening crunch of blood and bone that was hopefully not his own, he blinked.
The strange sixth sense called for his connection to the Lupine Soul once again, and... what he saw was no longer a man.
They were flashes of roaring viridian green, dashing and whirling around the numbered savage beneath him. They were akin to Fae sprites, only more green and more active, compared to the usually unresponsive, unreactive species.
'What is that? Something related to the colored shapes I saw before?'
Only a single thought crossed his effected mind, and Miles did not think much more of it, until... those flashes of green moved as one, and lashed out at his free-falling form.
Miles flinched, but as expected the flashes were neither real nor tangible, passing harmlessly through him.
Then the wind spoke to him, whispering of an old debt, an unavoidable payment, lamenting what it was being forced to do.
Out of nowhere, a sudden gust of wind picked up, and struck him where the green sprites had missed, throwing his formerly falling body, sideways.
Miles gasped in pain as his back smashed into a robust Oak trunk, shattering a bone or two. He slid down to the ground, reeling and heaving.
[-1 HP]
[HP 9/10. External and Internal Injuries Detected.]
[0.6 ≈ 1 BP lost. 9/10 BP remaining.]
Miles growled through the pain and swept away the notification.
‘What was that? Magic? A Fae Ability?’
He couldn't tell. It was nearly identical to the Fae ability of Aeromancy, were it not for the strange shapes of green.
Miles did not get much longer to strategizes as something, burning and scalding, crawled its way up his throat. He hurled, vomiting out a mass of congealed black ichor, splattering all over the ground, the grass almost hissing at its touch.
He wiped off the remnants of the disgusting liquid from his lips, almost scalding to the touch.
Miles recognized the strange fluid, the same he had hurled out back in the cavern inside the Hordred Rat maze and had caused a glitch in his use of detect, the same he had accidentally brought from his mind world.
'Fuck.'
Though supposed to be a partial unsealing, this did not seem any better than what he had experienced before. Although there were no tangible forces trying to contend with his will, there was still something here, nudging his choices ever so slightly.
As if to prove the point...
Ferrosanguis Arma (Ironblood Armament).
The skill activated of its own volition, upon the blood of his back, even though Miles hadn’t intended it. The blood from his most recent injury crystallized, staunching the bleeding and forming a hardened exoskeleton underneath his suit.
The Veilbound savage was taking his time, number 217, moving towards him with apparent confidence.
With a painful breath, Miles struggled back on to his feet.
He had not intended to venture into sudden, unplanned combat. It had not been his choice, but now that he was, there was no longer any room for second thoughts.
As conditional undeath worked on his wounds, Miles could feel the Beasts within him relishing what awaited him.
The fight, the hunt, the massacre.
Miles leapt forwards, pouncing from side to side as if he were more animal than man, moving with the immense speed granted by a 43 (+10) boosted agility, enhanced even further by nameless footwork.
Number 217 did not remain still, with masses of emerald light gathered around him, the Veilbound thrust his hands forwards, screaming something that Miles's ears failed to hear. And yet, the word, the phrase, it echoed through him, vibrating with unnatural potency.
Kunatu.
The wind roared following behind those same green lights as they began to swirl, rotating and revolving around 217.
Miles could still hear the strange term rumble and tumble within his skull. It was a nonsensical term that made no sense, but eventually, what he heard was something else entirely.
Storm.
Indeed, it was as if these floating lights were generals of the legions of wind, commanding the air to move. What formed first was a mere breeze, but it became a gust, and that gust was soon a tornado. Within mere seconds the towering storm had reached nearly the height of the valley, buffeting Miles’s comparatively miniscule form.
This extent of skilled Aeromancy would have had him retreat instantly, but the Beast(s) within him did not care, mindlessly thrusting his body through the whirling winds.
His insights about the flow of wind, whispered to him mere moments in advance were analyzed with impossible instinct and channeled into nameless movement, somehow keeping him grounded and not swept up by the storm. It was a struggle even then, not helped by the fact that whatever wind this was, it was sharp, gashing through exposed skin.
Though the ogre skin of the suit held strong, and the light blood armor underneath did its job, the sharp slashes of wind cut him all over, ripping open his hands, face and neck, over and over.
[External Injuries Detected.]
[0.3 ≈ 0 BP lost. lost. (Negligible. Not considered.)]
Fortunately, the blood loss was not severe but as Miles danced through the sharpened storms, he realized it was just serious enough to become more.
Ironblood Armament.
For the second time the skill was called without his intent, and the blood seeping from his hands were willed to crystallize and solidify, crawling over his fingers, sharpening and affixing, until it finally formed something resembling the claws of a deathly beast. These were a pair of clawed gauntlets, forged of ruby blood crystal, elongated and sharpened.
Without a second thought, Miles slashed them at number 217.
The Veilbound savage was caught off guard, by he who had come rushing through a literal tornado. His sharpened crystal claws touched upon skin, even drawing the faintest of blood, but…
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All of a sudden Miles found himself stuck, frozen in midair, as if he had been caught by an invisible hand.
The wind was screaming, but it was far too late for him to dodge now. He was also not ‘frozen’, not really. Rather a horde of those green lights were now revolving around him, causing the wind to surge around him, holding his helpless figure in a pocket of trapped air.
Miles found it impossible to escape from, when the force that held him was wind being swept up by intangible green lights. Still, the Beasts within had him struggling like a frantic animal trapped in midair.
Number 217 finally relaxed at the sight of his helpless figure, and ventured closer, just enough to speak.
Maybe it was a question because the savage seemed to expect a response, but whatever it was, it was ineligible and unheard to Miles's ears. Besides, he had more important things to do, especially because the blender of green lights around him and the Veilbound had finally revealed the slightest of openings.
Ferrosanguis Clavam (Ironblood Spike).
Something red, warm and deliciously metallic, splattered all over Miles’s body. He let his tongue stretch out, lapping up a few stray droplets of the blood.
[-2 BP (Consumed by Ironblood Spike)]
The blood point cost for the skill hit him hard, exactly like a sudden vanishing of a fifth of his energy. But it was worth it, because the next thing he knew, the green lights around him had scattered away like flies. The wind was suddenly ambivalent, and with nothing to hold him Miles was sent crashing onto the grassy floor.
He hurried to his feet, swerving from the ordeal.
For a moment he stared downward, at the gurgling, dying figure of number 217, now with a foot-sized ironblood crystal spike impaled through and out the back of his neck. The stench of blood hit his nostrils, for death had made the Veilbound tangible, the same as their sacrifices to the rite.
Ding!
Uninterested, Miles waved away the distraction, more focused on his rising thirst, burning and overwhelming. He barely held it back by sheer willpower, and only relaxed when relief came in the form of a sudden blood replenishment.
[+3.6 ≈ +4 BP leeched.]
[Remaining Blood Points: 10/10 (+ Blood Bank: 4/100)]
Whatever cost Miles had incurred so far was paid back in full by this, with a little bit of interest as well.
He stared at the blood spike still impaled within the man’s neck, where the parts of his body surrounding it seemed to have deflated, as if the contents inside had been spontaneously absorbed.
Though Miles had just 'fed', he could not help but find the remaining blood tantalizing. And for the first time ever, something in him pined for something a bit different.
He found himself gazing at the broken man, eyes drawn to his chest. But what he sought was something that wasn’t visible, something that was inside, something that was beating.
However, before he could act…
Miles collapsed to his knees, heaving, gagging, and another burning mass of vile darkness hurled itself out of his throat.
The dark ichor sizzled upon the grass, though when he reached to wipe his mouth this time, he found quite a bit of it had stretched harmlessly over his face. Somehow, there was some of the pungent liquid on his suit and hands as well, which he promptly and harmlessly wiped away.
Miles heaved tired breaths, slowly forcing himself to stand…
He needed to recover from this (un)balance, he needed to find a solution--that was when he felt that same voice, unheard but echoing through his skull.
Kadu.
Miles's enhanced five senses were an ability he had just recently learned to rely on, but they had been almost entirely useless in this forest.
For the first time in a long while, they came in clutch, notifying him of the wind that had lashed at the back of his neck, screeching.
Miles did as the wind suggested and ducked.
It was just in time too, because a visible crescent of blinding light ripped past the top of his head, shaving off a few of his hairs.
He let out a nervous exhale, when the slash began to expand exponentially, moving through the valley and phasing through the forest.
For a moment, nothing happened.
Then, with resounding thuds and clouds of exploding dust, the gigantic trees past him began to topple over one by one, as if falling dominos. They had been completely severed by that single slash.
Once again, the initially meaningless term echoed within his head until it became something meaningful.
Blade.
Miles turned around, slow but wary. His eyes of darkness and light homed in on another Veilbound. This was the youngest, number 101.
The Numbered savage stared at him with such tangible hatred, his gaze shifting between Miles and the now dead number 217. The savage’s hands lifted and positioned if they were holding some manner of tool, imagined and non-existent, for he was actually holding nothing.
Miles blinked.
The Lupine Soul opened his eyes, and he could see now that 101 wielded a sword formed of strange, yellowed light. The savage hefted the blade, and Miles could swear the very air vibrated with tangible sharpness.
He barely pounced to the side, when a giant explosion of wind and rubble threw him into the air, finally slamming his back into a previously severed tree trunk. Fortunately, the branches snapped under his weight, unable to pierce through his ogre skinned suit, or break the previously formed ironblood armor.
[External and Internal Injuries Detected.]
[0.3 ≈ 0 BP lost. lost. (Negligible. Not considered.)]
Miles’s vision was unbalanced and shaky, but he could see enough to realize that where he had been, was a massive gash razed through the earth. He should have been terrified by this near-epsilon-like prowess, but the Beasts that held most of his reins couldn't care less.
Ironblood Armament.
Again, the skill acted without his intent, and the blood that had seeped under his suit reformed, compounding onto his ironblood exoskeleton. And without a single thought more, Miles leapt forth, conditional undeath helping him to shrug off the majority of his injuries. Enhanced agility and nameless movement carried his animalistic figure towards the sword wielding Veilbound.
Ironblood Spike (x2)
Miles was not sure how he managed it, but during his maddened rush forwards, he managed to lift his palms and shoot out two explosive bursts of ironblood crystal.
[-4 BP. (Blood Bank: 0/100)]
It did not do much but cost him precious blood for the yellow blade flashed twice, and both ironblood spikes were cut in half right through the middle. It seemed 101 had caught onto that particular trick.
Miles barely reacted, dodging a second sword slash aimed at where he had been. A close call, but somehow Miles managed to position himself so that the explosion of rubble would propel him further forwards, and... he was upon number 101.
The blood crystal claws flashed, and the Beasts within him intended to rip into the body of number 101, but…
Something caused him to fail, something that had ripped right through the ogre skin of his suit, through the blood armor, piercing his chest.
[-3 HP]
[HP 6/10. External and Internal Injuries Detected.]
[2.3 ≈ 2 BP lost. 8/10 BP remaining.]
Miles groaned in agony, the next thing he knew, he was flying through the air again. He crashed into another mass of wood, the armor did its job even better this time, not even registering the crash as an injury.
Unfortunately, the damage was already done.
Reeling, his vision swirling, Miles tried to get up, but… he could not.
He was being held down. By something that well and truly hurt.
Miles glanced at the source of the pain and felt a chill rush through him. There was a second golden blade of light impaling him, directly through the heart and into the trunk behind him.
‘Well, thank the Sidhe it wasn’t a wooden stake.’
He almost chuckled at his own humor but was forced to stop as he vomited out another mass of black blood. Conditional Undeath was struggling to heal him, the blade inside his heart seemed to be disrupting the process.
[-1 HP]
[0.3 ≈ 0 BP lost.]
Blood seeped out of his struggling heart, bleeding internally. Miles heaved heavy breaths and began to act, pulling himself up the blade and persevering through the pain. He had just begun to near in on the end, when a leathered boot slammed into his chest, knocking the wind out of him and spearing him back into the blade. It was as if he were stabbed a second time.
[-3 HP]
[1.6 ≈ 2 BP lost.]
Miles thought he heard someone screaming in pain. He couldn't care much though, for the first blade of light was now a quarter of the way through his throat, forcing blood to seep down his neck.
[-3 HP]
[HP 2/10. External and Internal Injuries Detected.]
[1.8 ≈ 2 BP lost. 4/10 BP remaining.]
Miles flinched, as the chill of true death by decapitation swept over him.
He could hear them now, clear as day. The Beasts within him were howling.
They were well aware of his situation. One wrong move, and the blade could finish its job, faster than they could use any skill.
The Beasts howled and howled, enraged at being outclassed, infuriated by their helpless situation, incensed by the mere feeling of fear. Miles’ thoughts were barely any better, utterly influenced by those within him. When the young Veilbound entered his vision, all he felt was rage.
Number 101 responded in kind and spat onto Miles’s face. The savage wiped his mouth and smoke with a smug tilt of his head, posing some ineligible question.
Miles could not care any less. His rage at the disgraceful act made him see red. His own rage merged with those of the Beasts. The thirst seemed to fade away, even the agony of being a mere 2 Health Points away from death.
Since he did not answer the question, the blade moved a few centimeters deeper into his neck.
Ding!
[-1.4 HP ≈ 1 HP]
[HP 1/10. External and Internal Injuries Detected.]
[1.2 ≈ 1 BP lost. 3/10 BP remaining.]
Miles felt himself tremble.
Fear? No, it was not fear.
It was his chest that rumbled, echoing a low growl that emanated from the darkest depths of himself.
It was the world itself that trembled. It was the endless spheres of color floating in the air that rumbled. It was everyone but him that trembled.
This was also the first time he so clearly saw the hordes of colored orbs, without being seated on the Seat of the Wurkan, without an attribute boon to Influence. It was as if the orbs had been summoned, for a few of them even stepped towards him, burning with vibrant color.
Miles could feel them consider him, presenting the halves of their offers. Pacts to be. If only he could offer something in return... but he had nothing to give.
It was true, he had nothing of value that interested them. However, the Lupine Spirit was different.
The low growl stemming from his chest, rumbled louder, seeping into the world itself. Though they had not left on the best of terms, the wolfen spirit was magnanimous, and reached out in his stead.
The Lupine Spirit did not pay any interest to the dozens of offers being presented. It ignored all of them, focusing only upon a single spark of yellow light, golden, carrying shadows of clashing blades and shimmering swords. The very same light that was currently stabbed in his heart and neck.
Nothing was offered, no pact was made, all that was done was an exchange of thoughts and ideas, a simple communication. A remembrance of ancient oaths and owed responsibilities.
Miles would have been lying if he said he did not relish the sight of these yellowed orbs appearing conflicted. But it was only a delay, for in the end the light had to compromise and acquiesce.
And just like that whatever pact number 101 had used to gain his power, was overshadowed by the Lupine Spirit.
The blades of light flickered, fading and stalling in place, directly disobeying their wielder.
Though it was only for a moment, it was just enough.
Just enough to allow Miles to vomit a mass of disgusting ichor into his own mouth and spit it right into the face of the bewildered Veilbound.
Number 101 reeled backward, screaming a scream that made no sound, as the acidic black bile burned through his face.
Miles’s lips curled in bloody satisfaction.
An eye for an eye, revenge for spitting on his face. As for the rest, well, that was just interest accrued.
The Veilbound savage was screeching in agony, blinded, stumbling all over the place. Counter-attacking was the last thing on number 101's mind.
Miles had hoped to recover enough to stand, but the blades returned first, pushing past the influence of his wolfen spirit and returning directly into his wounds.
Unfortunately for 101, he had not recovered enough either and stumbled a step too close.
That was his final mistake, and Miles took his throat, the claws formed of blood crystal ripping right through.
Miles looked upwards, squinting past the rain of blood, bearing witness to a glorious sight.
The Veilbound, formerly cocky and confident, now gasping and suffocating in disbelief. 101 was struggling in vain, trying to stifle the blood loss from his throat, pathetically acting the same as those he and the other savages had so heartlessly sacrificed.
A base, animalistic part of Miles, one that he hoped dearly were the Beasts Within, watched on with glee. Until at last, the youngest of the Veilbound, the wielder of golden blades, toppled over.
Ding!