Zerin reeled, weakened by blood loss. But right now, it didn't matter.
The seed had already begun.
It spun—a rising whirl—before it snapped downward, driving into the nape of the Kaldrmenn's neck.
A torrent of blood erupted from the wound like a geyser, spraying into the air. The azure blood boiled at the seed's blistering speed, burning black as it fell. The dark rain painted the back wall behind the corpse and the floor beneath it, soaking its cold cloak.
The corpse jerked. Once. Twice. Its muscles spasming as the seed burrowed deeper, binding injuries, fusing bone, and finally taking root.
The whirlwind came to a breaking halt.
Then, a breath. Crimson mist curling from the Kaldrmenn's lips, defying the frigid air.
[Veinborne Complete.]
"Just in time..."
Zerin exhaled in relief, a single, shuddering release. His back hit the wall as he tucked himself into the corner of the cell.
Two against one. Much better odds.
The Elder closed in, its footsteps and rattling bone chimes growing louder with each step down the cell block.
It passed the captives' cell first. The Elder paused, tilting its head. Inside, they trembled—broken, worn.
Yet… something itched at the Elder. Not compassion.
Envy.
Eventually, it moved on.
Blood pooled just outside the neighboring cell. The Elder ducked beneath the doorframe, its body creaking as it stepped inside.
Then it paused.
From the shadows, pulsing red orbs glared back, breathing like tides in motion. Fully stepping inside, the Elder straightened, its antlers nearly scraping the high ceiling.
Recognition dawned upon it.
It was kin. But changed. Corrupted. The robes—once pristine, once sacred—were now stained black, the white trim clinging like ghosts where the blood had missed. The scent was alien, no longer the Mother's, but of something other.
Its very nature now opposed the Mother. The body was leaner, a mockery of the vessel it had been given. In the dark, crimson veins pulsed beneath its fur, each breath exhaling red clouds that clashed with the frigid air like embers.
Then, as the crimson mist dispersed, a flash of red erupted—and the slumped Veinborne vanished.
The Elder spun reflexively to the left, bone chimes rattling.
Empty stone... and a captive outside?
Tucked into that left corner, drained of all strength, Zerin pressed himself against the wall, trying to stand. His eyes locked with the glowing blue orbs. The stare was a needle, striking deep. He tried to move—but each motion was sluggish.
The Elder lifted a leg to step forward—only to find it ensnared. Its gaze dropped, catching thin red tendrils racing up, coiling around its feet.
A sound to its right drew its attention. Scuffling feet.
It turned. The Veinborne closed in, its body trailing wisps of red mist. In its hand, the Kaldrmenn wielded a blade sculpted from frozen crimson—a mockery of the Mother.
But the tone shifted the moment the Elder struck.
A sharp crack echoed as the Veinborne's momentum collapsed under a single, brutal blow. The Elder speared its hand, driving straight through the creature's chest. Bone, flesh, and muscle split beneath its grip.
Warm blood sluiced down the Elder's forearm as it lifted the impaled Veinborne toward the ceiling. The Kaldrmenn's body sagged with another vile squelch, sliding until it hung limp at the Elder's elbow.
Its blue eyes widened in fixation. Watching the light slowly fade in those crimson eyes. Felt the heat. The life.
It wanted it.
Zerin rose, his blade manifested nearly dropping him with the cost of summoning it. He staggered. Stumbled. Then charged.
SLLK!
The blade pierced the creature effortlessly. He drove deeper and twisted, forcing the azure torrent to mingle with the dark red blood pooling on the floor. The Elder jolted, its narrow focus snapping wide, eyes just as sharp as the blade embedded in its side.
The Kaldrmenn's eyes flared. Even impaled, it raised its frozen crimson blade and brought it down in a desperate strike.
CRACK.
The wooden mask didn't merely crack—it exploded. Splintered and shattered.
And beneath a horrific face was revealed.
A face of too many eyes. They didn't blink. Beneath, a mouth unfurled—revealing a spider's mandibles, clattering together.
Every pupil fixed on Zerin. It studied him, as if startled that its face was being observed.
The Elder hissed, like steam escaping a furnace.
And then it struck.
The same arm—still buried elbow-deep into the Veinborne's chest like a lance—swept across the room. Zerin tried to move, but it was much faster, as the sweeping arm crashed into him flinging both him and the dying Kaldrmenn across the cell.
Zerin slammed into the stone wall. The impact hollowing out the air in his lungs. His eyes dulling and the world snapping to darkness.
So much blood. Almost none left in his body.
But he forced his Aspect active. The world returned with full clarity.
The Elder stood revealed. It shrieked—the sound scraping in Zerin's ribcage. Spittle landed on the bloodied cell floor in vicious streams.
It twisted its neck, far too fast. It saw him. Hatred—raw and absolute filled its eyes.
The creature's twisted composure morphed into fury. But it made no difference to Zerin. Mask or not, it was the same thing beneath: A Nightmare Creature.
Zerin pushed himself up, bones grinding. He stared at the wound at the Elder's side—azure blood flooding out the wound steadily. Maybe he was anemic. Maybe he was already dead and he was delirious.
His grip tightened on his blade. His stance was shaky, but he remained fixed.
He had maybe a minute before his body gave out, but for the Elder, it only had seconds. Unless, there was something else he didn't know. It wasn't the best gamble, he'd have to fight.
The Elder lurched forward, slipping on the slick floor—blackened crimson and azure smeared together like manifested sin. It dropped onto all fours, scrambling, limbs moving with unnatural speed, like it was torn from its confines.
Zerin waited.
The creature closed in—Fast and Furious.
At the last moment, he moved. Zerin sidestepped, his blade slicing through the air in a clean arc.
SLKK.
The head split free from the body. Its body maintained the raging momentum crashing into the wall beside the Veinborne, then fell still.
The head rolled. The blue eyes—once terrible, once unnaturally composed—flickered, then dimmed.
Zerin staggered, legs trembling, vision swimming. He dragged himself forward, until he loomed over the Veinborne.
The Elder's final screech echoed in his mind, looping endlessly.
He reached down, seized the severed head by its antlers, and lifted it, staring into its dull, lifeless eyes.
Then he held it before the dying Veinborne. Speaking his first command.
"...Eat."
[You have slain an Awakened Sentinel, Keeper of Repose.]
[You have received a Memory.]