The air stank of rot and iron.
Vaelion's wrists bled where the chains bit into them, the cold metal almost mocking his struggle. His body was battered, every nerve raw from the hours—no, days—of Velgrin's "lessons."
The latest was the worst yet.
Velgrin stood before him, porcelain-white hair tied loosely behind, sapphire runes drifting across the robe that seemed to hum with power. In his hand, the ring glimmered faintly, threads of magic pulsing from it.
The man smiled—if it could even be called a smile.
"Eat," he said, tipping the bowl forward.
The centipede writhed. Vaelion's stomach turned. He wanted to turn his head away, but Velgrin's finger pressed under his chin with delicate, unbearable force.
The thing slid down his throat, and the wriggling didn't stop even inside him. His nails scraped the chair arms.
Velgrin's voice was calm, like a scholar noting a theory.
"You vampires… so fragile when your immortality is stripped."
Something snapped—not just in Vaelion's body, but in his mind.
The fear… the shame… all of it burned out in a single moment.
When his head rose, Velgrin paused.
The black hair he'd known was gone, fading strand by strand to pure, cold white.
And Vaelion's eyes—left a deep sapphire, right the same yet brighter, as if lit from within.
Velgrin chuckled, but there was a twitch in his jaw.
"Pretty trick. Won't save you."
The chains cracked. Metal froze over and shattered as Vaelion pulled himself free.
His hand rose, ice gathering in his palm—an orb, swirling, lethal. Velgrin's instincts reacted; the runes on his robe flared, his deflection barrier concentrating forward.
That was the trap.
Vaelion vanished.
In the same breath, his foot crashed down on Velgrin's skull from above, sending the man sprawling.
A pebble scraped across the floor—then shot forward at blinding speed. The air hissed as Vaelion's telekinesis twisted it into a razor's edge.
Bisector.
Thin lines split across Velgrin's arm and cheek. He raised his barrier again, but Vaelion was already behind him.
Subzero frost clawed up Velgrin's neck, locking muscles in place. Another pebble—no, a bullet of stone—slammed into it, shattering flesh and ice alike.
Obliterator.
Velgrin roared, threads of light weaving from his ring into his wounds, knitting life back together.
But Vaelion wasn't finished.
A massive boulder tore from the ground, hovering between them. Ice surged across it, coating it until it gleamed like a glacier. With a thought, Vaelion dropped it between them—a wall of frost and stone.
Velgrin raised his hand to shatter it—
—only for Vaelion to appear at his right, gripping his arm. The temperature plunged until even the runes dimmed.
"Total Subzero," Vaelion whispered.
The ice cracked. The arm froze to the shoulder.
The next pebble came—spinning, keening through the air—
—and Velgrin's head separated cleanly from his body, shattering in a mist of frost and stone dust.
The robes collapsed. The ring clinked onto the ground.
Vaelion stood over the corpse, breath visible in the frigid air. His own hands trembled—not from exhaustion, but from the alien calm that still filled him.
He didn't feel relief.
Only the quiet hum of power… and the knowledge that he had crossed a line he couldn't return from.