His consciousness was clouded, and his body was prevented from moving by a strange force. Despite all his effort, any resistance only caused pain, like needles burying into his skin all over his body. But he tried to get up regardless, and yet he couldn't...
What happened? he thought, dazed. He didn't quite remember what had occurred, only that in the blink of an eye he had lost consciousness while checking the exits of the catacombs.
The only thing he remembered were eyes as red as fire.
And then he opened his own.
Dazed, he saw a man with scarlet hair, wearing a mask depicting a throne of blood, standing in front of him.
"Who are you?" Ducanor growled.
But the man didn't answer immediately. Instead, suddenly, something surged from his eye and pierced Ducanor's eye socket.
"Ahhhhh!" A sharp cry of pain flooded out of Ducanor, but the scream was muffled as the pain spread through his own blood.
"How disappointing," the man muttered in an icy tone.
The violent energy that had pierced his eye had embedded itself, violently wreaking havoc on his veins and arteries, and even his meridians. His body began to convulse; his meridians had been destroyed, his upper dantian crippled, and the next two soon would be if nothing unexpected happened.
But that didn't happen.
"Rawwrw—" a roar erupted from his mouth as his skin swelled and black fur covered his body. The Blood Wolf had returned.
And he thought... His body was suddenly pressed down by a colossal figure; that figure threw him against the wall and, with a force beyond what any mortal or noble could withstand, his body and mind were broken.
He felt that several portions of his body were shattered, while at the same time several of his bones had pierced his skin. The pain was such that his mind wavered for moments between consciousness and unconsciousness from shock. There was no longer Ducanor's consciousness, or the instinct of the Blood Wolf. It was empty.
While his opponent roared in victory, it was a grotesque, giant figure twisting about, while chewing sounds from multiple mouths could be heard from time to time. From the darkness, a giant claw of flesh and bone emerged, grabbing the incomplete corpse of a beast that had lost all semblance of what it had been in life. It was tearing it apart and assimilating it into itself through small appendages that looked like mouths with dozens of teeth.
"Devour, grow, devour, evolve, devour, devour, devour..." a screeching and unpleasant voice sounded in the darkness, but slowly its body revealed itself in its entirety.
The creature had an absurdly grotesque appearance. Its head was similar to a lizard's but without skin; if someone saw it, they would compare it to a flayed dragon. It had four pairs of fleshy wings, while its limbs were considerably longer than its body, like some kind of spider or other insect.
The draconic creature, which did not have its hands empty, began to consume the corpses of the beasts it had caught. At an absurdly fast pace and a speed visible to the naked eye, the flesh on its body began to expand, and its body grew. Considering it was already about seven meters long and a little over two wide, in less than five minutes it had increased its size to almost ten meters long and two and a half meters high.
Ducanor was practically half-dead at this point. But the beast's interest right now was not in him, but in the outside.
"Damn abominations, come and let me devour you. I will kill you all and never let you turn me into your slave!" With a fierce roar, it flew toward the sky, but then a beam of energy as large as a building flashed in the sky, and surprisingly, the massive monstrous dragon's body was split in two.
And from the sky emerged nine figures who looked with disdain at everyone present, as if they were simply trash.
A Cruel Experiment
"Your sword intent has increased a bit, David," murmured one of the vassals to his leader, who hadn't even drawn his sword or formed one; simply from his sheer will, he had manifested a sword that cleaved the beast in two as if it were garbage.
"Though it's a pity, it's far too rare for a candidate to transform into a drakakos. We lost too many because of the Guards, although we still gained quite a few. Anyway, does anyone know who the hell he was?" David asked in annoyance as he summoned a servant.
The one who stepped forward was a short, rough-looking person who came running out from some side rooms of the arena.
"My lord, his name was Ryan Kench. It seems he was a member of an ancient feysir house that fell from grace, and apparently his mother was turned into a slave during that time, and now she is ours."
"I see. Revenge, simple revenge. A strong emotion that can warp even a noble heart. What a shame that revenge was against us. Perhaps his mother will make a good toy," David chuckled, while the rest looked with disdain at the corpse of the drakakos.
It was still moving and writhing on the ground as its two halves tried to join together again. But to its misfortune, an orb of white flames suddenly appeared from the palm of one of the blood vassals who intended to finish it off.
"A pity, he would have made a good blood servant," he murmured.
But before he could do so, David stopped him with a gesture.
"Wait, how about we do something interesting?" he said with a cruel smile.
"What do you mean?"
"There are two candidates left and both are dying. I think we could help the other reach his maximum potential," David said with a ruthless, cruel smile.
Suddenly, Ducanor's semi-conscious body was thrown near the group of vassals. His shoulder and the right part of his chest had practically vanished, with part of his lungs pulsing outward, while several of his broken bones pierced his flesh, pumping blood into the wounds.
The only part that was more or less intact was none other than his skull. Injecting a small drop of blood essence that flowed into Ducanor's temple, suddenly a current of supernatural crimson energy covered his body and began to regenerate his wounds at an absurd rate.
In an instant, dozens of wounds were closed and regenerated while his skin took on a slightly reddish hue.
"He assimilated the blood quite well; he must be a ninth-generation vampire at least now, and once he assimilates it completely, perhaps a seventh or sixth-generation vampire," said one of the blood vassals.
"If I wanted to make a vampire, I wouldn't waste so much effort," David murmured with disdain. Suddenly, he waved his fist and a beam of sword aura stabbed the body of the drakakos, separating a pulsating piece of black flesh from its body.
It resembled a heart. The body of the drakakos trembled slightly before losing all signs of life, falling motionless.
"The drakakos form an organ known as a blood core to replace the heart. Its energy is quite nutritious, but for us, it is simply a dragon scale."
Suddenly, the blood core sank through the air into Ducanor's chest, while pulsating veins fused and integrated with it as if it were a second heart seeking to make its way into him.
"David, it is highly likely that the previous user's memories will merge with this candidate. In that case, you will only be strengthening an enemy."
"Hahahaha, relax. I didn't just use my blood essence to help regenerate his wounds, but also so it can destroy the residual will of this slave. Soon a new, more powerful chosen one will rise, and if we're lucky, the Blood Temple might receive him as a Blood Saint candidate. With his original talent and the spiritual core, he will be invincible within his generation." With those words, David's ambition was fully manifested.
The chosen were simply the first step to becoming a Blood Saint; one had to tread upon a mountain of bones and form a sea of blood. Only the cruelest could achieve that, and David hoped not to be disappointed by this candidate.
The Geist within the Mindscape
Ducanor's expression clouded slightly as he realized he was conscious, but confusion also flooded his gaze as he observed his surroundings. Confused, he tried to move but realized his perception and senses were different from before. He was practically a mass of muddled senses; he couldn't even see his own body. And that clarity terrified him even more than before.
"This is death," he murmured in confusion.
"Unfortunately, you are not dead yet," an unknown voice growled behind him.
Dazed, he metaphorically turned around—since he didn't even have a body—and to his surprise, he saw a mass of multicolored light that began to warp until it took the appearance of a young man.
He had an outstanding appearance in several ways, better than Ducanor's; he had a chiseled face and sharp, bright golden eyes. His hair was red as flames, and he did not pale in terms of physique compared to Ducanor.
"Who are you?" said the surprised Ducanor, looking doubtfully at the person in front of him.
But before he could react, he saw the man shoot in his direction and strike the place where he was supposed to be. Yet, before he could even get within a meter of him... A crimson lightning bolt slammed into his body, blowing half of his torso into particles of light.
"You bastard, those bastards are protecting you. Do you think that will manage to kill me? I will defeat you even if I have to destroy my soul!"
"Wait, wait," Ducanor said, raising his hands. "I'm not your enemy. I don't want anything to do with this place or the fights of those weirdos. I was just passing through."
Suddenly, to his surprise, his body manifested in this space after he thought about it for an instant. "What a strange sensation," he murmured.
"Wait, what do you mean? Who are you?"
"I am Ducanor. I'm a servant of the Guards and I got dragged into this shit. It's not what you think; I'm not allied with those guys," he said hastily. "I was even killed by them."
"Really?" Ryan growled, somewhat confused, in a slightly more relaxed tone and sighed. "You're not dead. They're probably going to use you as a chosen one to become a Blood Saint candidate."
"Blood Saint?" Ducanor asked, astounded.
And then, a bit more relaxed, Ryan said in a serene tone:
"The Temple of the Beasts is an unholy organization that worships the Blood Race and its ancient leader, the ancient Blood Phoenix, as a god. He was the patriarch and founder of the race millennia ago.
"And the reason they held this whole ceremony and massacre was to acquire candidates so they could become Blood Saint candidates. Blood Saints are existences at the very peak of the Temple.
"Even though the Temple of the Beasts dominates the other branches of the smaller temples—like the Temple of the Wolf, or the Temple of the Bear—it remains insignificant compared to the Temple of Divine Blood, which is the main headquarters of worship for the Blood Race in the eastern continent.
"In that place, seven aspirants are selected for Blood Saints. Each aspirant is eligible to become a Blood Knight, who are part of the Blood Race's nobility and can practically live for millennia. The goal of the Temple of the Beasts is to ensure that one of the temple's chosen manages to become a saint and propel the temple leaders to ancestral blood, allowing them to become nobles of the Blood Race."
Suddenly, after saying all those words, Ryan's body began to distort in the air as if he were about to disappear.
"Wait, are you going to die now?" Ducanor asked, astounded, feeling a certain sorrow upon understanding Ryan's motivation as their souls began to interact, exchanging memories.
"I am already dead. This is simply my soul dispersing. Don't worry, it's not your fault," he said with some guilt.
Looking at him deeply for a few moments, Ducanor murmured: "I promise you I will save your mother. Let that be our Geist. And in exchange, perhaps I will ask for a little more."
And suddenly, after those words, a light flooded Ducanor's vision. Before he realized it, he had already regained consciousness.