The moment I felt the blood fall under my control, agony exploded through me.
It was immense. Indescribable. A pain so vast that every previous wound, every prior torment, became utterly meaningless by comparison. This was not pain confined to flesh or even to the soul—it tore through my existence itself, as though reality had rejected me. As though something fundamental was blocking my authority over that blood at a conceptual level.
I clutched my head, screaming silently, and only then did I notice it.
My hands were drenched in blood.
My face was soaked.
Every inch of my body was covered in my own blood, and it burned. Gods, it burned like hell itself, searing into me from the outside and the inside all at once.
I felt Gluttony screech within my mind. He was suffering too. But this wasn't ordinary pain—no, I could feel it with terrifying clarity.
If this continued, I would die.
I was bleeding out at an impossible rate.
I had to destroy the blood.
The only way I knew how was to annihilate it—to incinerate it utterly using [The Sin of Wrath].
I didn't hesitate.
I unleashed Wrath, burning every trace of the corrupted blood from my body. Flames roared over me, cauterizing wounds even as they devoured flesh. The alien agony vanished—but I paid for it dearly.
I had stopped that pain…
by burning myself alive.
If I didn't heal immediately, I would still die.
"Gl—Gluttony… ple—please," I rasped, barely able to form the words. "Use the blood. Heal me."
I hated begging. But this wasn't pride versus dignity.
This was survival.
I felt myself losing consciousness, darkness clawing at the edges of my vision.
No.
I refused.
I bit down hard on my already-damaged lip, nearly tearing it apart as fresh blood filled my mouth.
I refuse to be weak again.
I refuse to be the same bastard who walked blindly into this damned hell.
I felt Gluttony respond, slowly forcing regeneration through me. Before he had even finished, I pushed myself upright.
Half my body was still charred. My armor smoked faintly. My hair was burned and brittle.
But I was standing.
Still awake. Still moving. Still fighting.
I had to fight.
If I wanted to survive what was coming, I needed to discard the weakling I once was.
I was no longer human.
I should not judge myself by human limits.
Where a human dies—I must live.
Where a human falls—I must continue.
Where a human trembles—I must remain unbroken.
I am no longer a mere human.
I am a gods-damned undead vampire—and I should start acting like one.
I limped forward, dragging my ruined body along the wall for support until, at last, the healing finished knitting me back together.
"Gluttony," I asked hoarsely, barely recognizing my own voice, "how much blood is left?"
It was thicker now. Rougher. Each breath felt shallow and strained, like my lungs were still recovering from being scorched.
"Uh… a few drops? Maybe?" Gluttony replied. "I had to heal both of us at the same time, so conserving blood wasn't exactly an option."
I sighed, then coughed violently as the air scraped through my lungs.
"Wonderful," I muttered. "Guess I need to acquire more blood before reaching Feltan."
With a swift motion, I summoned Beast. Seeing the faint concern in my Echo's posture almost made me laugh—though given how hard it was to breathe, I decided against it.
"Go hunt," I told him. "I need at least two corpses. Don't go overboard."
Beast vanished into the distance.
I continued toward Feltan's location, eventually reaching the ruined building trapping him. As soon as I stepped inside, his voice echoed out—sharp, furious, and unmistakably concerned.
"What the hell were you thinking?" Feltan snarled. "Trying to manipulate Weaver's blood, you absolute moron! Do you have any idea how badly you screwed up? If my lineage hadn't burned that blood off you, you wouldn't just be more dead than you already are—I'd be dealing with whatever thing crawled out of your corpse!"
I raised an eyebrow.
"Weaver?" I asked slowly. "I've heard that name before… I think. And what exactly do you mean by 'dealing with whatever came out of my corpse'?"
I felt the entire structure tremble.
Feltan had slammed his head into the wall.
"Oh, yes," he said hastily. "Slip of the tongue. Entirely meaningless. Forget I said anything."
He was lying. Badly.
But I wasn't in the mood to press him.
"Fine," I said. "I'll drop the questions—on one condition."
He groaned. "What condition?"
"You teach me three sigils."
There was a long pause.
"…Fine," Feltan muttered. "Pick any three."
One was obvious.
"I want you to finish teaching me the barrier sigil."
He hummed in acknowledgment.
"Second," I continued, "I want a sigil that helps me in close combat."
Feltan considered this.
"How about one that locks both you and your opponent in place?" he suggested. "You can still use your Aspect while they're immobilized."
I thought it over. It was exactly what I needed—though being immobilized myself was less than ideal.
"Can you make a version that only restrains my enemy?"
Feltan hesitated.
"I could," he said slowly. "But I'd have to learn that variation first before teaching it to you."
I blinked.
"…You're telling me that after hundreds of thousands of years, you haven't learned that?"
Feltan coughed awkwardly.
"In my defense, if someone survives long enough against me for restraint to be necessary, a weak sigil wouldn't stop them anyway. Learning sigils wasn't exactly a priority when I could just… absorb concepts."
I raised an eyebrow sharply.
"Absorb concepts?"
He sighed.
"You'll understand when you're older."
That… raised more questions than it answered. But before I could dwell on it, he waved dismissively.
"Alright, kid. One sigil left. Choose carefully."
I already knew what I wanted.
"I want a sigil that allows me to force my opponent to start bleeding."
Feltan nearly choked on his own breath.
"Nope. Absolutely not. No chance in hell," he snapped. "I am not teaching you any sigil involving blood. No blood, no illusions and absolutely no possession. Pick something else—and make it fast."
…Damn.
That had been the perfect choice.