Chapitre 78: CH78 - Vetala
Using a medical charm meant to imitate a scalpel, Edmund pushed the tip of his wand into the pad of his right index finger, causing a deep cut to form. Immediately, a steady, sluggish supply of blood began to seep out of the incision. Disregarding the risks of infection, Edmund placed his finger on the ground, drawing a small circle of runes with his life essence around the innocuous-looking egg.
After hearing back from the speaker nearly a week ago, Edmund had put almost his entire magical studies on hold, trying to learn one specific array: a basic blood ward. Essentially, the caster would use their own blood to create an enclosed barrier, entrapping any beings within. The ward was quite strong on its own, but its true unique quality was that of damage transference; any attacks to the inside of the 'prison' would be felt by its creator instead.
'How fucking stupid,' Edmund thought in the privacy of his mind.
And he was correct. Blood imprisonment was a very rarely used ward due to the potentially debilitating side effects it brought with it. Tying one's life force to a ward was foolish, no matter how someone looked at it. Hence, the array was typically only employed for teaching, a rudimentary precursor to learning more useful blood magic.
However, for Edmund's purpose, it worked just fine. For the speaker was not worried about the creature within the egg being powerful enough to attack him physically. She was wary of something else: mental and soul attacks. Few magical beings in the world possessed such capabilities. Basilisks had a killing gaze, wampus' had access to legilimency, and sirens had alluring voices that could addle fragile minds. In rare scenarios like that, the power of blood magic shone through, for it could convert these unorthodox assaults into tangible injuries. A strike to the mind would instead cause a headache, while a strike to the soul would only cause internal pain from an unidentifiable location. Oh, it would still hurt like nothing Edmund had ever felt before, but it was miles better than the alternative.
In any case, all the blood imprisonment needed to do was to prevent the creature from escaping before he could figure out what he wanted to do with it. For that, it ought to be suitable enough.
'At least, I hope,' Edmund murmured as he reviewed his work.
"Episkey," he absentmindedly muttered, healing the nick on his digit after thoroughly washing it out.
The speaker approached him from the opposite side of the circle, done with her own analysis. "It will hold."
Edmund steeled himself. "What are we waiting for, then? Let's begin."
He placed his hand on the egg as he had done so many times before, channelling his magic inside it. This time, however, the receptacle was resistant to his advances. It wanted more, but it was nearly full to the brim. There was no space for his magic to go.
Slowly, almost imperceptibly, it began to tremble. It rocked this way and that, vibrating frenziedly at such a frequency that its edges began to blur in Edmund's vision. A buzzing erupted from deep within it, accompanied by a familiar voice.
"yyyeeeeeeeeeesssss!" it roared in pleasurable bliss. "fffiiiinnnaaaaaaallllyyyy!
The shell began to rise in the air, hovering almost two feet above the ground unassisted, solely supported by Edmund's magic.
*Crack* came the first noise of web-like ruptures appearing on the egg's surface.
The speaker's eyes sharpened at that, as did Edmund's.
The cracks continued to grow, amassing near the bottom of the shell until its fractured structure could no longer bear the weight of its inhabitant.
*SPLAT*
A body fell to the ground unceremoniously, sprawling on the forest floor limply.
It was a monstrosity.
Once upon a time, perhaps, it was a baby manticore. A tiny human head was attached to it, with small wisps of hair looking out of place on its otherwise smooth head. Its lion body was decayed, skin and bones. Where a thick, magnificent coat of fur was meant to exist were only small clumps of matted hair. The scorpion pincer was bent in on itself, curved unnaturally at an angle that should not have been possible. ...And on either side of its neck were small stumps where other heads had begun to grow, thanks to Moros' bloodline.
Its eyes bore into Edmund's own, completely blank and lifeless.
It was dead.
And yet, a brief red glow flashed in its eyes before fading away just as fast. Its limbs cracked and rotated various degrees as its body clambered onto its feet. Its tongue lolled out of its body as its face twisted into a blood-curdling smile.
Edmund held his breath. "What... are you?"
The creature only grinned wider as it began to shuffle towards him.
"Fuck no!" Edmund forcefully shouted as he wordlessly threw the beast to the ground, chaining it to the earth.
It did not struggle, only looking at him that much more interestedly.
Waiting.
Watching.
"A vetala," the speaker uttered quietly.
Edmund shot her a confused glance from the corner of his eyes.
"The manticore was not the living creature within the egg," she clarified. "It was the malevolent spirit that was inside of its body."
"A... vee-tay-la?" Edmund tried to pronounce in vain as his gaze remained locked on the unmoving beast.
"A vetala," the speaker nodded. "Not much is known about them in the magical community beyond confirming their existence. As Hindu legend goes, the vetala is a ghoulish trickster that haunts cemeteries and forests. They exist in a realm between life and death, doomed to be a part of neither forever. Here's where things get interesting. There is one thing that researchers know for sure. These beings are, in a word: skin-walkers."
Edmund startled. "They can occupy others' bodies," he said with realization.
The aged centaur looked at him with approval. "Vetalas have the ability to inhabit a shell, taking it over completely."
A cloud of black smoke rose from the dead manticore's body, rushing in their direction instantly. Edmund clenched his teeth in anticipation.
Five feet. Four feet. Three feet. Two feet. One foot. Zero.
*BANG*
The formless being bounced off the wards harmlessly, causing a mild pain to shoot down Edmund's body. His lips turned upwards. "That's it? That's all you've got?"
The vetala growled angrily, the smug look it bore finally replaced by another.
"As I was saying," the speaker continued with amusement. "Its main power is a soul attack in a sense. It is difficult, almost impossible, to defend against. However, it has a rather stringent requirement."
"That being?" Edmund asked curiously.
"The creature whose body it wishes to take over must be terrified within an inch of its life," she elucidated.
Edmund hummed in understanding. "Which is why the vetala's nature is how it is. It needs to scare its victims into submission."
The gears in his mind turned as he looked at the spirit keenly. 'What a horrifying creature. If the blood ward weren't up, it would have escaped already. It may be weakened now, but who knows how long that will last. All it needs to do is find a good host.'
He hesitated.
'What if I could "convince" it to stay?' he deliberated. 'What if I had its powers at my disposal, its might to command as my own? Is it... is that even possible?'
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État de l’alimentation hebdomadaire
-- Classement
Power Stone 
-- Power
stone