Kalon Bloodborn's POV
The walk to the Patriarch's private wing was an entertaining one. Beside me, Elder Larry moved with a surprising sprightliness for his age. He wore a byzrant. A heavy cloak with bearing shining thread design. It hung in a smooth sweep down the back and sides fasten to one shoulder with a fancy pin, leaving the other side open and fluttering as he walked.
Unlike the stern, stone-faced elders I had encountered in the citadel, Larry was more approachable. He regaled me with stories of his youth, of failed experiments that had left workshops damaged. It was hard to picture this elder have such a clumsy youth.
"You've stirred the nest, boy," elder Larry chuckled, his mustache twitching. "But don't look so grim. The Lord Patriarch is in a remarkably good mood today. He has heard of your rapid advances. Not just the theories you shouted in the courtyard, but your actual grip on the blood mana arts. He values results more than rhetoric."
I reached up, my hand atop the cooled scales of Bane. The soul reaper was unusually still. His tiny head resting on my shoulder. As I petted him, I felt his heartbeat thrum rapidly. It mirrored my own anxiety. We were walking into the abode of the most powerful Lamian in Stygia. A Lamian who held the lives of thousands in his hands.
We arrived before heavy doors, I believed was the entrance to the Patriarch's study. They were no guards in sight. The door opened. Elder Larry walked him gesturing for me to remain outside. I waited for a brief moment before the doors opened again. Elder Larry stepped giving me a nod to proceed.
Without a word, Larry stepped aside, his presence gone as the doors swung open of their own accord. I stepped through, and the mana pressure immediately doubled.
The room was vast, the ground made with floorboards instead of white stone. In the center, a set of wooden framed doors led out to a balcony overlooking the cityscape. A presence in that very balcony demanded my attention.
As I approached it, a low hum vibrated through the floorboards, sinking into my marrow. I felt my own blood mana churn in response. A deep, primal reverence washed over me. On a divan on the balcony reclined Lord Cian, the Patriarch. But he was not alone.
Coiled beside him was the blood wrym, Fang, the very beast I had seen once before. His black scales shimmered under the evening stars, and his crimson, slit-like gaze fixed on me with a weight that made my knees weak.
Bane let out a soft, submissive hiss. He pressed himself closer to my neck. We were in the presence of a great beast.
"Come, Kalon," the Patriarch's husky voice echoed through the space. "We have much to discuss."
I walked toward the balcony, my stride rigid, my hands fidgeting involuntarily. I could feel Fang's hum vibrating in my chest. It made me very conscious of the gap between a student and a Master.
"Have a seat," Lord Cian invited, gesturing to a divan opposite him. He held a glass of wine, his expression unreadable under the evening stars.
"I greet the patriarch," I said, my voice steady despite the pressure I felt.
He smiled, but it was a smile that didn't reach his eyes. "Do you greet your patriarch without offering a bow?"
I realized my mistake instantly. The sheer pressure of the room had momentarily clouded my manners. I dropped to one knee, lowering my head deeply, in a formal show of respect. A humorous, dry laugh escaped him.
"I hardly get the chance to pull one's leg anymore," he mused, sipping his wine. "When serving absolute beings like the Oracle, one cannot afford such luxuries. I've called you here to enlighten me on your progress. Tell me everything."
I held nothing back. I knew that in this room, lies were as transparent as glass. There was nothing to gain in deceiving my master. I recounted my journey from the ruins of Bloodville to the citadel. I explained how I had pushed my blood manipulation beyond simple weaponry, and into the healing aspect. With a focus on restoring flesh and the transmutation of blood mana into physical form.
The Patriarch looked impressed. He kept nodding in acknowledgment. But his posture shifted when I mentioned the name I had found in a grimoire: Ademir Bloodborn.
"Ademir..." Lord Cian whispered. "A former monarch of Stygia. The founder of the blood puppet arts. A Lamian whose brilliance was matched only by his ruthlessness. You claim to have mastered his lost technique?"
"Not mastered, Lord Patriarch," I corrected, "but I have found the thread."
"Let me have a look," he commanded.
I stood immediately. My eyes closed, as I reached deep into my mana heart. I imagined the body of the dire bears that roamed the northern region of Stygia.
Thick Blood mana began to pour from my fingertips. It coalesced, weaving together into a dense, muscular form. In seconds, a life-sized blood puppet of a dire bear stood before us.
Lord Cian's eyes lit up. He stood, walking around the blood puppet, his hand hovering inches from its pulsing skin. Fang, too, rose from his coil, his black scales scraping against the floor as he circled the blood puppet.
"Outstanding," the Patriarch mused. "To make a blood puppet of such nature... you might truly be the one."
He reached into the folds of his kirtle and removed a glass bottle. Inside, a swirling purple liquid glowed with an ominous, sickly light. "This is a potion from the fallen poison celestial race, the Asuras. It is a concentrated essence of decay. Something that dissolves mana and flesh alike."
He widened the jaws of my blood bear and poured the liquid inside.
The reaction was violent. My connection to the puppet screamed. I felt a searing heat in my own veins as the poison began to ravage the blood puppet. The bear's flesh began to melt, turning into a putrid grey sludge.
"Hold on!" I barked, more to myself than to the patriarch.
I gritted my teeth, sweat pouring down my face. Fighting the poison was useless. I forced my mana to wrap around the toxic molecules, creating a casing for the decay. The puppet groaned, its form mending repeatedly as I fought to sustain it.
The bear's veins began to bulge, showing a deep purple. Canines erupted from its gums, growing in size. Its limbs thickened. At the elbows, the skin hardened into an armored hide.
The decay stopped. The puppet had adapted. It stood taller now, with poisonous aura that made Bane hiss.
"Marvelous," Lord Cian remarked, running a hand through the purple streaked fur of the puppet. "Finally, a vessel that can withstand my potions without collapsing."
"What was the purpose of that?" I asked, my voice raspy from the exertion.
"That potion you saw, was something I learnt from the Asuras," the Patriarch explained. "I have sort to further its possibilities. I have the knowledge, but I lacked the medium. Your blood puppets are perfect. To think my disciple would be of good use. This early at that. "
"I intend to teach the workings of these ancient potions and grant you access to grimoires long removed from the hall of knowledge. This should be enough to help you incorporate stronger potions into your blood puppets. I will personally oversee this."
A surge of excitement washed away my fatigue. To learn directly from the Patriarch was the greatest backing I could get in Stygia. It was the proper start of a relationship with our revered lord.
"I accept," I said, a smile finally breaking across my face.
Lord Cian nodded. "Good. We have much work to do, Kalon. The world is ever changing, and the peace is only a thin veil. One must be ready for what lies behind it."
As I left the study, I began to reassess myself. I had made a deal with the lord, and for the first time since the mana-shift, I felt that I wasn't just surviving this life, I was learning how to command mine.