Dobroslav pushed himself off the floor. Silence. Bolts still in place, windows untouched. No sign of forced entry.
He exhaled. Safe.
"Father? Mother? Ania? Marek? Kasia?" he called, voice low.
Living room.
His breath stopped.
Father, mother, two sisters, and younger brother lay scattered across the rug in deep, unnatural sleep. Every head of hair had turned pure white. From each temple rose long, sharp, frost-pale ears, elegant and unmistakably elven.
"What the hell…?"
He staggered to the bathroom, flicked on the light, and faced the mirror.
A stranger stared back.
Hair like fresh snow. Eyes glowing cold blue. He had shot up several centimeters; the old mirror now cut off the top of his head. And the ears, long, cruelly beautiful, ending in wicked points.
He touched one. It flicked under his fingertip, alive.
'What happened to me?'
'The rift flooded the world with Qi,' Bhalzar said, calm and almost amused. 'Your bloodline woke up. All of yours did. Nothing to worry about.'
Dobroslav kept staring at the glowing stranger.
'So I'm… an elf?'
'Half, at least,' the ancestor replied, pride thick in his voice. 'My demon blood runs just as strong. Snow Elf and demon lord, forged into one.'
Dobroslav's new blue eyes widened.
"Demonic Elf?" he whispered to his reflection.
Bhalzar laughed, dark and satisfied.
'Call yourself whatever you want, boy. You're awake. And soon everyone else will be too.'
Thud. Thud.
"Open the door! Now!" Multiple boots shifted heavily in the stairwell.
Dobroslav stood motionless in the hallway, eyes fixed on the locked door.
"Who are you?"
"Polish Army," came the flat reply. "We're checking for… abominations. Open up."
The word landed like a blade.
"We're fine," Dobroslav answered, voice calm, almost polite. "No trouble here. Please move on."
Silence for two heartbeats.
THUD. THUD.
The doorframe shuddered.
BAM!
Wood splintered around the lock.
'They're coming in,' Bhalzar snarled, eager.
Dobroslav glanced back toward the living room. His family still lay unconscious on the rug, white hair spread like frost, long ears exposed. Defenseless.
He drew a slow breath, cold power coiling in his palms.
The door exploded inward, splinters flying.
Dobroslav was ready. He'd already measured every angle, every heartbeat. Two black military-issue tactical knives sat reverse in his fists, edges hungry.
He lunged, spinning low.
First blade hooked the lead soldier's chin, tore upward through tongue and brain in a red geyser.
Second knife punched the next man's throat, twisted, ripped sideways. Blood painted Dobroslav's face like warm war-paint. He smiled as they dropped, gurgling, dying slow.
The last two fumbled rifles. Too late.
He batted one barrel aside, slammed a knife through an eyeball—wet crunch, gray ooze. The scream was music.
A knee crushed the final soldier's balls with a wet pop. Dobroslav pinned the writhing body to the wall.
He leaned in close, breath on the man's ear.
"You should not have come here."
Hands clamped both faces.
"Infernal Battle Law!"
Life ripped free in shrieking torrents. Skin split, bones cracked, bodies folded into dry husks. Black fire roared through Dobroslav's veins, thick, glorious, addictive.
He licked the blades clean, slow and deliberate, eyes glowing ice-blue and ravenous.
'More,' he thought, pulse thundering. 'Ancestor, teach me everything.'
A sudden detonation of Qi exploded inside his chest—white-hot, perfect.
His eyes snapped wide.
'I feel… stronger.'
'You just opened your first Qi conduit, boy,' Bhalzar crowed, voice dripping triumph. 'Congratulations. You entered the path to immortality.'
Dobroslav stepped back inside, smirk sharp as his knives.
'First means there are more.'
'That's my descendant,' Bhalzar laughed, wild and proud. 'Greed suits you. Devour them all.'