Shape-shifting—my body could mold into any form I desired. A child, an old man, a teenager, or even a beast. I visualized myself as a massive wolf, fangs bared, or a shadow slipping through crowds unnoticed. Disguises, deception, infiltration—perfection. My grin widened. I could walk among enemies and they'd never know.
Then, my tongue brushed against the sharp points of my new fangs.
Blood Drain—the ability to sink these into any being and siphon their life force, their blood fueling my strength. I extended them, retracting them with a thought, the metallic taste of anticipation filling my mouth. Power through blood. Immortality through consumption. My stomach growled—not with hunger, but with lust for dominance.
Necromancy—the dark art of raising the dead, summoning spirits, bending ghosts to my will. A chill ran through me as I imagined an army of the undead at my command, silent, relentless, unstoppable. No more fear of death. No more fear of loss. The dead will serve me.
