By The Blood

He went rigid, feeling his bones, arms, and legs seized by some unknown force that pressed tightly, preventing any movement. He frowned. What was this? That word...it sounded like Astra. Did someone use High Astra to enhance their power? To make it strong enough to hold me? Who would do that? A sorcerer? No! Not many even know they exist! He gritted his teeth. But fortunately, these fools had no idea what he was capable of.

Instantly, he harrumphed, causing a lance made of swirling, black sand-like substance to emerge before him. He focused on the intruder and shot it out. The lance whooshed forward, spraying pints of sand across the room.

He's attacking! Aurelian realized as the rigid Archon seemed to be freeing himself. As for the incoming rapier, Aurelian quickly turned into mist, allowing the attack to pass through him and smash into the door, blowing it off its hinges. He gritted his teeth against the pain. Even while resting outside the door, he hadn’t relinquished his mist form, so he was now at the limit before succumbing to the agony. But before that happened, he was determined to see Putray die!

Aurelian attacked with renewed vigor, swinging his blade in a furious flurry toward Putray. But the Archon harrumphed again, and this time, a burst of black sand surged out from him, creating a thick, oval shield. Aurelian’s blade struck the sand wall, causing it to sink slightly. The black sand shield quivered, quickly forming deadly spikes that shot upward. Aurelian pulled back just in time, feeling the tips of his hair sliced by one of the spikes.

He saw the spikes retracting back into the sand, but slowly, as if they were warning him not to come closer. He gritted his teeth and turned toward the now wide-open hallway. He spotted the lady in a corner, staring with a nonchalant attitude. "Do something!"

She looked at him for a moment, then quickly pointed at the sand dome. "Maladiro!"

He turned back to the sand shield. It began to quiver, showing ripples on the surface. Then, it slowly began to break down, cascading like a waterfall until it revealed Putray. The Archon’s hands were swollen, turning pale and sickly. Even with the armor, they were bloated, showing signs of leaking yellowish pus.

Yes! Aurelian felt a jolt of joy. This was his chance. He was about to dash forward when suddenly the lady whooshed past him. Is she going after him? To kill him? No! That kill is mine!

His legs dissolved into mist, propelling him forward. He wasn’t going to let her take his prize.

Staring at the two approaching adversaries, Putray felt insulted. Are they really coming to kill me? With this? This is all they have, and they think they can bring down a Desolation!

The world slowed down. Putray sighed. This is a joke. Do these people think an Archon is a joke? I suppose I’ll have to educate them! He opened his lips and whispered, "Noblesse!" But he also said something else—something illusory and indiscernible. Then, he added with a smile, "Desert Storm!"

A huge eruption of wind tore through the room, collapsing the walls and soaring high into the smashed ceiling. The wind spun faster and faster, like a vortex, bringing flashes of red lightning within it. The lightning struck the stone statues, tore through the remaining curtains, and kept intensifying. In the center of the spiraling vortex, which kept enlarging and consuming the hallway and its roof, was Putray, still seated in his high-backed chair.

In front of him were Aurelian and Jean, clinging to his bloated hands. Since Putray couldn’t move, he was the best thing to hold onto.

Everything was engulfed in the swirling brown sandstorm, filled with crackling red lightning. Aurelian, with a single glance, could tell that if he were to fall into that storm, he would be torn asunder or blown to pieces by the lightning within. What is this? he thought, panicking. There has never been any record of Putray having a power like this! Did he evolve? His thoughts raced, but he couldn’t find an explanation.

Just then, he spotted the lady moving her fingers toward Putray’s bloated hand. What is she doing? he wondered, still clinging to the hand. Any mistake, and he would be sucked into the storm.

She reached out and pulled a strange ring from the now fat and pale finger. She placed the ring into one of her dangling pouches attached to her waist. Then, without warning, she stretched out her left hand and grabbed his.

What is she?

Black flames suddenly surged out from her body, extending to him and covering him in the black inferno as well. He quickly recalled how she had appeared. She’s trying to escape? His eyes widened. "No!" was all he could manage as his vision was consumed by the burning darkness.

He had been so close!

After an unknown amount of time, Aurelian suddenly felt a pull from some distant place. It was beckoning as if something were attracting him. He was in a deep darkness that seemed to move. In the distance, there were faint booms of white lightning. He looked at the vast darkness and felt countless gazes descend on him. He tensed up, his mind racing, but he couldn’t find an explanation.

Suddenly, he was hurled toward a white, swirling vortex-like light in the distance! The light was surrounded by many others of the same type, but each one was different—smaller than that one. He looked to his side and spotted the lady. She, too, looked startled as she was dragged toward the light. She isn’t doing this? Then what in the Pure is happening?

____

Karl watched the sun, his eyes following the giant white orb as it sank deeper into the western horizon. He stood there for a while, bathing in the cold winds, soaking in the chill with the knowledge that intense heat awaited him next. The day’s work was done, and the beastmen had retreated to their sheds. Soon, the night mists would come.

Nevertheless, Karl sighed and turned to make his way across the cornfield pathways—paths he had grown familiar with after numerous crossings. His lower back ached, prompting him to quicken his pace. He needed to get that thing off. Luckily, the beastmen did not come out at night, because if they did, one would surely have spotted the rigid black tail attached to his back.

With no eternal lamps to light the way, he could only navigate by the fading light of the sun.

The beastmen's sheds loomed in the rising moonlight. Already, Karl could see the mist gradually taking shape, twisting as if something were trapped within it. Even after two years, the sight of this mist was still unsettling. The sheds stood unguarded; there was no need, as the beastmen feared the night.

How can creatures that resemble wolves be afraid of the night? Karl thought as he approached one of the larger stone buildings with a wooden roof. But perhaps the wolves in this world also fear the night. He pulled open the door and stepped inside.

Silence greeted him. Karl closed the door behind him and turned to face the pack of over forty beastmen. An ordinary lamp hung on the wall, and a large pot sat in the center, filled with all kinds of bones—from dog to wolf. The flesh cultivator had a habit of mocking the beastmen.

“You have arrived, Karl,” said Weiss, one of the oldest of the beastmen, and thus naturally an elder.

Using the shadows behind him, Karl adjusted his tail, positioning it upwards as if it were reaching for the roof. “Yes, Elder,” he said before walking toward the end of the crude table, prepared by the beastwomen. Back there, there was no light, so he didn’t need to worry about his tail being seen.

A girl among those preparing the food approached with a smile. Astrid.

“Where were you?” she asked, taking a seat beside him.

“This place gets hot, so I needed to cool down,” Karl replied, not sparing her a glance.

Smiling with a nod, the auburn-haired beastwoman asked, “Aren’t you afraid of the night?”

“That makes it how many times?” Karl asked, his eyes focused on a few elders whose age was visible on their faces. He wondered what thoughts such people had.

“What do you mean?” Astrid asked, confused, though her expression made it hard to tell.

“How many times have you asked me that question?” Karl clarified.

“I don’t know... two?” Astrid’s ears lowered as she spoke. “What does it matter? You never answer anyway.”

“Two hundred fifty-six times. That’s how many times you’ve asked,” Karl said, not responding to the latter part of her words. He didn’t even have an answer that wouldn’t cause a problem.

“Two hundred fifty-six?” Astrid sneered and then smiled. “You just made that up,” she said with a frown.

Karl didn’t attempt to console the smile-frown on her face; instead, he lowered his eyes.

His mind flared up!

It didn’t hurt as much as before, thanks to the endurance he had built up over the years. His thoughts muddled together like sticky meat that refused to release its hold on one’s fingers. This was something that always happened to him, and unlike many things, he didn’t understand it, nor could he predict it. All he knew was that when his mind flared up, he would learn something new. Some were memories of his past life; others were not.

The voices faded into silence, the room turned crisp, the dull ordinary lamp burned with great intensity, and the wind brought a sharp screech to his senses. He could feel the grains of sand latched onto his bare feet, the gentle ruffling of his body hair, and even the violent pulse of his nerves.

Within that, the world around him faded into nothing. A bright light surged out, and a picture-perfect scene appeared before him.

In a forest replaced by red coral-like trees, a man with a blurry face, dressed in a red fluttering cloak, pointed a black sword with cracks that made it appear as though it was made of stone. He pointed the sword at a lady. Her face, too, was obscured by blurry lines, but her shape and body suggested she was an exquisite beauty.

The lady parted her arms and said, “Do you accept this outcome?” Her voice was calm but soft.

Sounds from the world gradually reconnected with Karl’s senses. The world reappeared around him like a scene blurred back to life. He saw the table, now holding numerous flat plates filled with small pieces of bones and a whitish liquid.

This one is new... I haven’t seen anyone like that before, and just like always... Karl thought, his fist clenching and unclenching. It also enhances and rejuvenates me. With each new scene, I get stronger. This is also why eating only bones for two years hasn’t killed me.

A plate of bone soup was placed before him. Astrid smiled and said, “If you want more, just ask. I can always give you a piece of mine. Also, remember to pray to the Hidden Voice before you eat.”

In a place where barely anything was abundant, Karl looked up and simply gave a nod. He leaned forward a bit to dine on the soup. He had to, or questions would soon arise about how he stayed so healthy. Although he had a possible answer to the question, it was, after all, the only alternative. That he was a Sanguine. They weren’t particularly rare, after all.

His face winced, and his lower back burned with a sharp pain. He really needed to remove that, but he endured it and, using his hands, picked up pieces of the softened bone. The beastmen lacked spoons and adequate water, so even after slaughtering pigs all day, he still had to eat with bloodied hands.

It was disgusting.

He munched on the bland-tasting bone and quickly downed the liquid called soup, though it had no business being called that. It was simply water—but on lucky days, the cultivator would provide salt water for a better taste.

He stood up and said, “Good night, Elders.”

“Do you hunger for more?” one of the elders asked.

“No,” Karl responded truthfully. He would prefer not to subject himself to such things, even if he didn’t always have control over it.

He immediately moved farther from the table to the western wall. This was his personal sleeping place. All those present were already aware of this, and unlike what he had expected, beastmen were very understanding of one’s space. They were nothing like what he had imagined them to be—creatures that slept together like a hive or a pack.