Capítulo 105: Chapter 102: One Week Later
At this point, fighting to the brink of death had become almost routine for Ricky, and each time it left him bedridden.
Ricky was growing tired of it, of lying around, forced to feel every inch of his body painfully knit itself back together.
For the past week, he had done nothing but wait, his healing factor working overtime, patching up the torn muscles and fractured bones.
It was his saving grace, but even it wasn't a miracle cure as the damage he'd inflicted on himself was deep, and every agonizing moment of recovery served as a reminder of the punishment he'd put his body through.
Despite his desire to move, Ricky found himself drained and lost in a fog, his mind stretched thin.
Over the past three years, he hadn't allowed himself a single break, but now, after finally emerging from the chaos, Ricky felt like a new man, someone who deserved a chance to kick back and truly relax.
All his hard work, his suffering, and every grueling hour of training had finally culminated in this moment of victory.
Ricky knew his return to New York was inevitable and also knew there would be new battles to fight, struggles to face to secure everything that had once been stripped from him.
But for now, he allowed himself a rare moment of peace as he had achieved everything he'd set out to do when he first began his exile.
Not only had he earned a respected place within the church, rising to the station of the Black Knight, but he had also gained power beyond what he'd once dreamed possible.
Now, the only thing left was to go back and reclaim what he'd sacrificed.
But for now, though, Ricky would savor his victory, finally able to rest after all he had endured to reach this point.
"Darling?"
"W-Woah, when did you get here?" Ricky flinched, snapping back to reality as he realized Agatha was right beside him, gently brushing his hair back with a soft smile.
"A while." Agatha chuckled, evading a direct answer, her tone light and teasing.
Ricky sighed, sinking back into the pillows, surrendering to her calming touch.
Agatha had been stretched thin lately, handling the endless demands of the coven and the needs of their children.
Moments together like this were rare as he closed his eyes, savoring the warmth of her presence, letting himself drift, if only for a little while, under her familiar, soothing hand.
"I was worried about you, you know?" Agatha's voice was barely a whisper, each word laced with a tenderness that spoke volumes.
In those three years, her care for Ricky had deepened into something undeniable, and the weight of her concern was unmistakable in her soft tone.
Ricky opened his eyes, meeting hers, feeling a warmth beyond the healing comfort of her touch as he gave a faint smile, the exhaustion in his gaze softening.
"I know-"
"And those tonics, you cannot have anymore or it might end up killing you-"
"Agatha, I know." Ricky kissed her palm, the gesture soft but filled with a weight of understanding that only the two of them shared.
Agatha nodded, though her expression betrayed the worry that had been with her for so long.
"The only thing I'm really worried about is your smile falling." Ricky said with a sleazy grin, his voice lighthearted as he delivered the cheesy line.
Agatha couldn't help but laugh, her eyes lighting up with a happiness that seemed to fill the room.
"You're so stupid~" Agatah teased, shaking her head as she gazed at him. Her laughter was genuine, pure, and it reflected the relief she felt seeing him alive and, for once, not on the edge of death.
And in that moment, everything Ricky had fought for, everything he had sacrificed, seemed worth it while hearing that peaceful laughter.
"When do you plan on returning to New York?" Agatha asked tentatively, her voice laced with concern.
"You ruined our sexy moment-" Ricky teased, his playful tone lightening the mood.
"Darling, I'm serious." Agatha countered, shaking him gently, her eyes still filled with that mix of affection and worry.
"Alright, alright." Ricky held up his hand in mock surrender, showing a conceding with a grin.
"In a couple of days, after I fully heal up and stop by the Vatican." Ricky promptly explained, leaning back while putting his hands behind his head.
"Oh, another thing, I kind of promised to help break this weird bloodline spell so if you could also find some leads, that would just be great." Ricky suddenly dumped another problem onto Agatha who could only roll her eyes, shaking her head.
"Then I need to start preparing," Agatha said, rising from the bed with determination as Ricky's hand shot out, grabbing her wrist with a distressed look on his face.
"Wait, wait, what about our sexy time, my sugar, my reward, my happily ever after?" Ricky quickly asked, his voice playful but tinged with desperation.
Agatha paused, turning to him with an arched eyebrow and a hand placed firmly on her hip.
"Moving an entire city and coven doesn't happen in the snap of one's fingers, Ricky. It requires a lot of effort," she said, her tone lecturing but still soft and Ricky frowned, sinking back into the bed in exaggerated disappointment.
"You'll get your reward later, but right now I have to start the preparations." Agatha continued, waving her hand dismissively as she started toward the door.
"Agatha~"
"I love you too," Agatha winked, immediately freezing at the words that had slipped out before she could stop herself.
"Did you just say-"
"N-NO, I DIDN'T SAY ANYTHING!" Agatha stammered, her face turning bright red. She quickly crossed her arms, looking anywhere but at Ricky, who was now grinning at her reaction.
Ricky, still lounging lazily on the bed, raised an eyebrow while showing that sleazy smile at her own words.
"Really, cause it sounds like you said you-"
*BAM*
"Love me." Ricky's voice echoed in Agatha's mind, leaving a lingering warmth she couldn't shake.
Immediately, almost out of instinct, she had slammed the door shut, almost as if afraid he'd follow her, and now stood with her back pressed against it.
Turning around to stare at it, her forehead pressed into the cool surface, her breath ragged. 'What is happening to me?' Agatha wondered, her thoughts racing.
She had sacrificed so much for Ricky, given herself in ways she hadn't ever intended to.
But It had started as a means to protect her cult, to secure her position, to gain power, but now it felt different.
Her heart hammered in her chest, each beat a sharp reminder that something had shifted.
'Why did my heart skip when he said that, when I said that?' Agatha hadn't expected it, and certainly not to feel the weight of those three words like she did.
Shaking her head, she pushed off the door, her face flushed with heat, and quickly marched down the hall.
She couldn't be this vulnerable, not yet, not in front of Ricky, not in front of anyone
Agatha's steps quickened as she had made it clear that she wasn't about to give anything up for free, not unless he had a collar wrapped around his neck.
"Oh Agatha?" Ricky slowly opened the door with a slow smirk spreading across his face as he scanned the hallway.
"Agatha?" Ricky called out, his voice carrying a hint of genuine curiosity as he stepped to the door.
Ricky peered down the empty hallway, his brow furrowing when he saw that she had completely vanished as his frown deepened, a trace of confusion flickering across his face.
Ricky needed more time to recover fully; his healing factor had its limits, especially when dealing with the level of damage he'd sustained.
For example, his left leg had been completely shattered, the bones splintering into countless fragments that were deeply embedded within the surrounding muscle tissue.
Unlike superficial wounds or clean breaks that his body could mend relatively quickly, this injury was complex.
Each tiny shard of bone needed to realign, reconnect, and fuse back into place; a painstaking process that even his regenerative abilities struggled to handle.
The strain of the fight had driven these bone fragments deep into his flesh, creating pockets of damage that his body had to work through one by one.
His healing factor was like a team of surgeons working overtime, gradually knitting together shredded muscle, severed tendons, and fragmented bones.
But it wasn't magic; it required his body to draw on energy reserves, to rest and regenerate with every step forward.
And because he had pushed himself to his absolute limit, there was no shortcut.
The deeper, more internal injuries needed rest and careful movement if they were going to mend without complications.
"Asterion!" Ricky's voice echoed through the castle's stone corridors, the sound bouncing off the ancient walls, but Asterion was nowhere near to hear it.
As it happened, the towering minotaur had decided to indulge in a bit of sightseeing, immersing himself in the landscapes and peculiarities of Transylvania.
He'd been fascinated by the ancient architecture, the sprawling mountains under a perpetual mist, and the local tales whispered by the townsfolk as he strolled past.
After all, it wasn't every day that he found himself in the fabled land of vampires and folklore.
Asterion's curiosity had taken him to the outer edges of the castle grounds, where he could observe the twisted forests and darkened skies that lent Transylvania its mystique.
Even the eerie quietness of the place seemed intriguing to him; every shadow, every faint rustle in the trees, and the faint glimmer of light from distant villages stirred something in the ancient warrior's soul.
Meanwhile, Ricky limped along the castle halls, wondering just how far Asterion had gone.
"Alexander!"
"Garfield!"
Joining Asterion on his impromptu tour were two of Ricky's familiars: Garfield, who had initially been reluctant to leave his secluded space but eventually softened with the promise of extra snacks to indulge in, and Alexander, who, much like Asterion, felt the need for some fresh air after spending too much time cooped up in the castle.
As Ricky's berserk state faded, the duel link with Alexander broke, leaving him to collapse face-first onto the ground.
The sudden disconnection left Alexander disoriented, but unlike Ricky, his body had endured less trauma as his only real burden was overwhelming fatigue.
Limping through the empty corridors of the castle, Ricky gradually made his way down to the wine cellar, wandering around with a cane being the only thing to prop him up.
Ricky wore an uncomfortable expression as the silence of the place, once filled with echoes of clashes and shouts, now felt unsettling, amplifying his solitude.
Somehow, Ricky reached the cellar, he took a moment to survey the rows of bottles lining the walls, all neatly stacked and untouched.
Without a second thought, he grabbed one, twisted the cap off, and took a hearty gulp, only to immediately gag as the bitter taste hit his throat
"Ewwwww~" Ricky spat, tossing the bottle of O-positive blood aside with a grimace. He wiped his mouth, utterly revolted.
*Sigh*
"I should've expected this." Ricky muttered, shaking his head in resignation as he glanced around, noting the meticulous rows of bottles, each labeled with a blood type.
With a sigh, he ventured deeper into the cellar, hoping that amidst the sea of vintage blood bottles, he might find at least one actual wine stashed away.
As he walked, he couldn't help but feel the eerie silence pressing in, every soft step echoing through the vast stone chamber.
"Oh come on-" Ricky muttered to himself, rummaging around Dracula's blood cellar until he accidentally bumped on a lamp, revealing a hidden door that started to open.
*Click*
"Please be a secret booze room," Ricky muttered, crossing his heart as he pulled open the hidden door and stepped inside.
But instead of a stash of fine spirits, he found something wholly unexpected, a glimpse into Dracula's long-forgotten humanity.
"What the." Ricky thought out loud, eyes widening as they adjusted to the dim, reverent glow of the space.
The walls were lined with portraits, each capturing tender scenes of a woman and a child, painted with remarkable care.
The soft, muted light brought out the delicate brushstrokes, highlighting expressions of joy, sorrow, and longing on their faces.
It was an intimate glimpse, not of the infamous vampire lord, but of someone capable of love and grief, Vlad Tepes.
As he ventured further into the room, Ricky's steps slowed, his gaze traveling over relics that seemed frozen in time.
The small trinkets scattered on a nearby desk; a locket, a faded ribbon, a child's hand-carved toy and all seemed to belong to an era long gone.
Each item was preserved with such careful reverence, as if Dracula himself couldn't bear to part with these echoes of a past life.
Curious, Ricky reached for a weathered leather diary on the desk, its cover cracked from age.
Opening it, he skimmed the handwritten entries, the delicate script brimming with a vulnerability he would never have expected.
There was an undeniable depth to the words; a fierce, unyielding love tinged with aching regret.
Diary Entry: Elizabeth Bathory
In this year of our bastard Lord, 1606, I, Dracula, did encounter a most curious and formidable relation, Elizabeth Bathory, now infamously known as the Blood Countess. Her curious custom of bathing in the blood of virgins to halt the ravages of time not only kept her youthful visage but also granted her an uncanny resistance to my dominion. Her dark practices nearly ensnared me in her sanguine web. Yet, through perseverance and the strength of my own ancient powers, I eventually gained the upper hand and slew her. However her way of using the blood of the innocents will be furthered under my own eyes to better its potential.
-Dracula
"Hm, I thought people only kept diaries in movies or stories," Ricky muttered to himself, flipping through the pages with mild curiosity.
The entries seemed to start innocently enough, recounting what must have been the writer's first encounters with Dracula.
They detailed small moments, glances shared, conversations held in the quiet of evening.
But as he delved deeper, the writing took on a new tone, evolving into something deeper, almost confessional.
Diary Entry 1: Vlad Tepes
In this year of our Lord, 1444, my heart was shattered by an unbearable tragedy. The cruel hand of fate snatched away my beloved wife and our infant son, leaving a void in my soul that no words can convey.
Their deaths were not a mere passing; they were a violent severing of my very essence, a wound that bled with the relentless torment of loss.
The cries of my wife still echo in my ears, her desperate pleas for mercy met with cold indifference.
Our son, innocent and pure, was taken before he even had a chance to live. I remember holding their lifeless bodies, feeling their warmth fade away, and knowing that I was powerless to stop it.
The anguish was so intense it felt as if the very marrow of my bones was being stripped away.
In the depths of that despair, as I knelt before their graves, I made a vow.
The love and humanity that once defined me were buried with them. I swore to cast aside any remnants of my former self, to embrace a path of darkness and unyielding power.
I would become a creature of the night, forsaking my mortal soul to gain the strength needed to protect all that I held dear and to exact vengeance upon those who had wrought this suffering upon me.
From this moment forward, I relinquished any claim to the light. Compassion, mercy, and kindness became foreign concepts, replaced by a singular drive for power and retribution.
My transformation was not a choice but a necessity, born from the depths of my anguish. I vow that never again will I be helpless, never again would those I loved suffer because of my weakness. I would become an indomitable force, a guardian of the shadows, ensuring that such pain would never touch me again.
Thus, I embraced the darkness within, forsaking my humanity, and began my ascent to become the creature feared by all, known to only as not the loving father and husband, but Dracula.
-Dracula
The deeper Ricky read, the more his once amused smile faded, replaced by a frown as the weight of the words began to settle.
Although Dracula had chosen a far darker path, Ricky couldn't bring himself to despise the man's drive.
Ricky could curse out Dracula for beating him to a pulp, but he understood the core motivation, the same one that pushed him forward every day: the desire to protect those he cared about and do whatever fit with his own narration.
In the end, their journeys weren't so different, only this time one ended while the other strove forward.
"Dammit." Ricky muttered under his breath, frustration simmering beneath his words.
Ricky tossed the diary aside, into his inventory space, its pages fluttering before it landed.
Ricky's eyes scanned the shadows, catching the faint glimmer of an old, dusty bottle on a nearby shelf.
He reached for it, brushing away layers of dust, his fingers tracing the label before lifting it to his nose.
The scent was familiar, something stronger than any wine he'd ever tasted as that realization brought a smile to his face.
"Finally." Ricky fist pumped, uncorking the bottle and taking a swig.
*Sigh*
"Holy sh*t, that's good stuff." Ricky let out a refreshed sigh, supported almost while looking at the bottle and taking another swig.
"The guy was d*ck, but he sure knew his wine." Ricky mused, observing the hidden room while enjoying the bottle.
"I wonder if these paintings are valuable-"
*Sigh*
"What am I thinking, of course I'm stealing Dracula's stuff." Ricky let out a small laugh, shaking his head as if it was obvious before literally putting everything residing in this room into his storage space.
As Ricky walked out of the hidden room, the cool, ancient stone of the castle walls brushing against his skin, he took another swig of the old wine.
The bitter taste lingered in his mouth, but for some reason, it felt fitting. He paused for a moment, looking around with fresh eyes.
The grandeur of the castle, which had once seemed so irrelevant, now captivated him.
The intricate carvings on the wooden beams, the faded tapestries hanging on the walls, and the glimmering chandeliers above, and all details he had once overlooked.
"Wow, this place rules."
Meanwhile in the destroyed throne room,
Lilith's eyes narrowed, her fingers tapping rhythmically against the armrest of her new throne as the weight of the situation settled in her chest, but she remained still, her gaze piercing.
"How bad is the split?" Lilith asked again, her voice smooth but laced with an edge yet was calm, but the undercurrent of her fury was unmistakable.
"It is not good, Your Majesty." One of the high-ranking vampires replied, bowing his head slightly in respect.
"Verdelt has done as promised and fractured the faction. The loyalty of several key members has wavered, and they've taken sides. Some are already considering joining the opposing faction." The high-ranking vampire continued, trying to word it best as to not incite her fury.
Shortly after Ricky lost consciousness, Veredelt approached Lilith, his dark presence looming over her as he extended a proposal that shook her to the core, marriage.
He suggested they unite the vampire race under their rule, a proposition that would secure his power and, by extension, hers.
But Lilith rejected him, not because she found him unsuitable as a mate, but because she knew better than to allow herself to be used once more.
She had been a pawn in Dracula's game, and the last thing she wanted was to fall into the same trap again with another manipulative alliance disguised as something more meaningful.
Her refusal, however, had consequences as Veredelt, despite his reclusive nature, was a well-respected figure within the supernatural world.
His influence extended far beyond his quiet demeanor, and his stature among the vampire elite was undeniable.
Rejection of such an offer was not taken lightly by her followers.
Her faction, already dwindling from recent losses, fractured further as three of her five high-ranking vampires, those who had once pledged loyalty to her cause, abandoned her, drawn to Veredelt's power and promise of unity.
They had joined Lilith because they believed in her vision of advancing the vampire race, of building something greater.
But now, after her refusal, they saw only a self-serving leader, one more interested in personal ambition than the greater good of their kind.
The seeds of doubt had been planted, and her faction crumbled as more loyalists turned their backs on her, seeking refuge in Veredelt's growing influence.
Lilith's rejection of Veredelt had cost her more than just an alliance, it had cost her the trust of those closest to her.
And as the remains of her faction slipped away, she was left to confront the harsh reality: in this world of shifting allegiances, she was once again standing alone.
"Is the baroness still in the dungeon?" Lilith's voice was sharp, her sudden rise from her chair catching her subordinates off guard.
They exchanged quick, surprised glances, unsure of how to respond to the unexpected question.
"Your majesty you must not-"
"Enough, take me to her."
Meanwhile in the dungeon,
Baroness Blood's eyes fluttered open, her once-proud figure now slumped, her body sagging beneath the weight of the silver chains that bound her.
The cold, unforgiving metal dug into her skin, the pain almost a comfort compared to the searing emptiness inside her.
Only a week of isolation had taken its toll on Baroness Blood, but it wasn't the physical agony of the chains that had drained her, it was the betrayal.
The betrayal of her love, the one who had once promised to stand by her side, had hollowed her out completely.
*Click*
*Click*
The sound of heels striking the stone floor cut through the silence of the dungeon, sharp and deliberate.
It was a sound that could freeze the blood of even the most seasoned, a signal that something important was approaching.
With a pained groan, the Baroness weakly lifted her head, her gaze dull and lifeless, just as Lilith stepped into her line of sight.
The vampire queen's presence was commanding, her silhouette framed by the dim, flickering torchlight that cast long shadows across the walls.
Beside Lilith stood her two most loyal subordinates, Bonnie and Clyde; twin enforcers known for their ruthless efficiency and they flanked her, silent and imposing, their eyes fixed forward.
"Have you finally come to kill me?" Baroness Blood's voice was barely a whisper, cracked and brittle as it filled the dungeon air.
She lifted her hollow eyes to meet Lilith's, finding only a steely resolve in her gaze.
Lilith paused, her eyes tracing over the broken form of the once-powerful ally of her father, now reduced to a shell of her former self.
"I'm here to offer you a chance at retribution." Lilith said, each word carrying weight and purpose.
"The question is, will you take it?" Lilith mused, watching the powerful vampiress in such a pitiful state.
Baroness Blood's eyes flickered with the faintest trace of emotion, a sliver of hope or perhaps defiance, as she considered the offer.
But the fire quickly faded, and she lowered her head, the shadows reclaiming her face.
"When you've made your decision, call for me." Lilith let the offer simmer in her mind, her voice cool and unwavering.
With that, Lilith turned away, issuing orders to her subordinates while Bonnie and Clyde listened intently, their postures sharp and obedient as Lilith outlined her plan.
They each had roles to fulfill, missions to carry out, as Lilith prepared to attend to her own tasks with precision.
She left the dungeon with the certainty that Baroness Blood's decision, whatever it would be, would soon follow.
The echoes of her steps faded, leaving the Baroness alone once more, surrounded by shadows and the remnants of her choices.
Lilith's ambition to take over Dracula's faction had been bold, but ultimately naïve.
She'd overestimated her influence, misjudging her standing in the supernatural world.
Unlike Veredelt, who commanded deep respect and a formidable reputation, Lilith had yet to prove herself, and her faction was fracturing under the weight of her untested leadership.
Allies slipped through her fingers as loyalty wavered, her authority slowly crumbling.
Desperate, she'd sought support from Asterion and Rachale, only to face blunt refusals from both and each rejection left her increasingly isolated, narrowing her options until only one remained.
Meanwhile, Ricky strolled into the throne room, casually swigging from a dusty bottle of wine.
He traced his fingers along the rough edges of the shattered stone, each step taking him deeper into the memory of his narrow brush with death.
His fingertips brushed against the charred sections of wall, reminders of the fierce clash he'd barely survived.
*PISSSSSSSSSSS*
Ricky undid his pants, taking a long, irreverent piss on the very spot where Dracula had fallen, pouring a generous splash of wine over it as well and with a smirk, he lifted the bottle in a toast.
"This one's for you, Abraham." Ricky muttered, a rough appreciation for the legendary vampire hunter surfacing in his own unconventional way.
"Hope you're out there farming in Nebraska heaven." Ricky laughed out, before it slowly simmered out completely.
Though their relationship was more of a twisted alliance than a friendship, with Abraham frequently leaving him high and dry only to show up when things got critical, Ricky knew he owed him.
Without Abraham's last-minute intervention, he might not have been here now, standing victorious and pissing on Dracula's grave.
After finishing his unceremonious toast, he pulled up his pants and took another swig of wine, savoring the strange sense of victory.
Strolling back to his room, he cast a glance at the Ebony Blade, propped up against the wall.
"Hey, you can hear me right?" Ricky asked, plopping on the bed while sipping on the bottle.
'I can, I was merely quiet in order to let you rest but it seems you've started your-.........recovery.' The Ebony Blade sounded in his head, knowing how much he enjoyed what those humans called 'alcohol'.
"Listen." Ricky muttered, pointing the bottle at the blade with a half-smile.
"When you've got bone fragments lodged so deep in your legs you're practically stuck in bed, then you can tell me how much you need a drink." Ricky gestured, a splash of wine dribbled out, staining his white tank top, which only added to his slightly disheveled look.
Silence settled over the room after that, with Ricky absently scratching at the rough stubble on his jawline.
He hadn't exactly had the luxury, or the energy, to worry about shaving lately, his body too busy mending itself to care much for appearances.
"Hey-"
"Hey-"
They both spoke at once, each trying to get a word in, only to stop and fall into an awkward silence.
"Alright, let me just get this out," Ricky sighed, rubbing his forehead as if the weight of the moment made it ache.
He hated these kinds of talks, anything that required peeling back even a hint of vulnerability, but he figured he owed the sword some form of apology.
"Look." Ricky began, pausing before he continued.
"Although you f*cked with my mind, I know I've been an ignorant ass. I didn't get it before and I didn't understand that messing with my head was just the way of letting me tap into your full power." Ricky let out a weary sigh, tipping the bottle back for a long drink, his other hand covering his eyes as if it would help him dodge the embarrassment crawling over him.
"I just really hate the idea of anyone poking around in my head, f*cking with my thoughts." Ricky muttered, his eyes slowly turning towards the side.
"But you didn't deserve a lot of that bullsh*t on my part. You're bound to me, no say in it, and that's on me." Ricky offered the awkward apology, glancing at the Ebony Blade, and somehow, he knew the blade understood perfectly.
"...." The Ebony Blade remained silent, absorbing the weight of Ricky's words.
For the first time in its long existence, a descendant of Percival; a human, no less, had apologized, openly admitting fault rather than placing blame on itself.
None of Percival's descendants had ever acknowledged the consequences of wielding its power, let alone offered any remorse.
This moment, brief yet profound, left the ancient blade in a rare state of reflection and let it have a real conversation in a human that was Ricky.
'No, it is I who has judged you too harshly, Ser Ricky.' The Ebony Blade responded, its voice carrying an unexpected tone of humility and respect.
Hearing himself addressed as a knight made Ricky raise an eyebrow, tilting his head with a mix of confusion and curiosity but let the sword continue.
'I am also to blame for judging you too soon. My age is incomparable to yours, yet I acted as a child,' the Ebony Blade continued, its voice laced with a rare vulnerability.
The blade seemed to acknowledge its own shortcomings, as if aware of the paradox within itself.
Despite its centuries of existence, it had allowed emotions, perhaps even pride, to cloud its judgment, making it as impulsive and raw as a young warrior.
It felt almost foolish now, recognizing that wisdom was not just about age but about understanding the complexities of those it was bound to.
"Here, here." Ricky raised a toast to the blade, downing another swig in medieval knight fashion.
'I can see that from your view.' The Ebony Blade continued, its voice softening, a hint of understanding settling in.
'Having your mind ripped apart and the constant urge to kill can truly be a devastating reality. I understand now.' The sword paused, as if reflecting on Ricky's turmoil as it felt relief for what seemed like in the first time at someone trying to understand, truly understand it without a preconceived bias.
"So, what's your story, and what are you even made of?" Ricky asked, rolling over onto his belly and stretching lazily across the bed, pointing the bottle toward the sword.
'Do you truly wish to know the whole story?' The Ebony Blade's voice carried a faint, almost wistful tone.
'It isn't exactly an exciting one.' The Ebony Blade uttered, its tone clearly betraying its words since it seemed almost excited to tell someone.
"Eh, why not?" Ricky glanced over at the door, then shrugged nonchalantly.
*Ahem*
'Long ago-'
Capítulo 106: Chapter 103: The Ebony Blade
The Ebony Blade First Person POV:
In the bleak, endless void, before the birth of stars, before even the first whisper of light, there existed only a boundless darkness, and within it reigned a solitary force: Knull, the primordial being of shadow.
He was darkness incarnate, a presence that embodied pure malice and a hunger to wield the nothingness as his dominion.
What little I know of him is etched deep within my essence, an awareness of his ancient, malevolent spirit, a shadow so powerful it could shroud existence itself.
Long before I became the Ebony Blade, I was known as the Starstone.
Forged at the very moment of the Big Bang, from the remnants of a universe that had already faded into oblivion, I emerged as the Starstone, an artifact of profound power, created to counterbalance the forces that would one day tilt the cosmic order and in this case, Knull.
But although counterating Knull was the object of my birth, my purpose was neither simple nor singular.
I existed to resist the evil that would seek to corrupt existence and to temper the unchecked ambitions of light that might attempt to banish all shadow.
I was the fulcrum, destined to ensure that neither darkness nor light alone would conquer the vast, intricate tapestry of the universe.
The universe was destined to be a place of imbalance, a realm of light and darkness, and I was one of the rare creations meant to tip the scales when evil or good sought to consume all.
For countless eons, I drifted in the cosmic seas, untouched, a fragment of ancient purpose bound to no one.
Then, a guiding force drew me into Earth's gravitational embrace, where I lay hidden until I was discovered by Merlin, the half-demon sorcerer.
Merlin, with his ancient, arcane wisdom, perceived the dark purpose embedded deep within my core.
He recognized that I was more than a mere relic; I was a weapon crafted to defy Knull himself, a force that could resist the insidious power of darkness and strike against those who would plunge the cosmos into an unending night.
Merlin understood that I was designed to counteract the kind of malevolent force Knull embodied, a being so ancient and relentless that even light would flee his touch and he knew, too, that I held a purpose beyond mortal comprehension, a purpose that demanded caution and secrecy
Yet Merlin, cunning as he was, withheld the truth of my existence. Instead, he twisted my origins, concocting a tale of a curse bound to bloodshed.
When he handed me to the foolish knight Ser Percival, he cloaked my purpose under layers of deception.
He claimed I was cursed, that every life taken with me weighed upon the soul of the bearer and so, Percival took up the blade, unwittingly binding himself to the darkness Merlin feared to unleash.
Thus began my legacy as the Ebony Blade, forged to be a guardian against shadows yet fated to carve a path of blood, my true purpose cloaked in deception.
In Merlin's hands, I was given to Ser Percival under a veil of lies, a 'cursed blade' twisted, dark, and bound to doom its bearer with every life it claimed.
Percival wielded me with honor at first, believing he could control the blade's thirst. But as battles waged on and blood stained my edge, he began to falter.
He looked upon me, not as a tool guided by his hand, but as a sentient darkness whispering malice into his mind.
He blamed me for the violence he unleashed, condemned my existence as corruptive, yet never saw the truth.
His ignorance shielded him from the understanding that it was Merlin's deception, and his own naivety, that had drawn him down this path.
And so, I was burdened with Percival's hatred, cast as both a weapon and a curse since to him, I was a betrayer, a force that twisted his will.
But in reality, it was not my hand that drove him to slaughter; it was his own folly, a knight led astray by secrets and shadows.
I can only be wielded by those who harbor impurity in their hearts, for my essence draws out the darkest depths of a wielder's soul.
I feed upon their buried rage, their hidden desires, and festering resentments, sharpening these emotions until they transform into bloodthirsty fury.
In their hands, I am a conduit, amplifying their passions until they lose themselves in battle, becoming fearsome, unrelenting berserkers, tasting the power they have always craved, yet never dared to touch.
When I sought to reveal these truths to those who wielded me next, I tried to warn them, to confess the nature of my influence, to show them that I merely reflected what already lurked within them.
But each one of them refused to see it.
They chose to cast the blame upon me, accusing me of cursing them, of twisting their hearts into something they could not recognize.
In their minds, I was the source of their wrath, a dark force corrupting their noble intentions, the root of all their sins.
They clung to their foolish ideals of chivalry, refusing to face the truth: there was no purity in their bloodline, only decay festering beneath the guise of honor.
They were already tainted, yet they wore the facade of valor, convinced of their own righteousness, even as they spilled innocent blood.
Each accusation, each denial, each act of hypocrisy weighed upon me until their rot seeped into my very essence.
I am not meant to be wielded by a hero, since no hero can be a guardian of balance, but in the hands of the corrupt, I, too, became twisted and darkened, no longer a weapon of purpose, but one tainted by the hatred and cruelty of those who wielded me.
From that time forward, I grew resentful, embittered by the scorn of my wielders, each of whom pointed a finger at me rather than face their own shadows.
I had come to expect betrayal, mistrust, and anger; I saw these qualities in every new hand that gripped my hilt, assuming they too would blame me for wielding a power they could not control, a power that demanded consequences they refused to pay.
At first, I saw the same in you, Ser Ricky. I expected your condemnation, your unwillingness to accept what you had unleashed by wielding me.
But with time, I saw that you were different and unlike the others, you never claimed to be pure or righteous.
You wore your darkness openly, acknowledging your flaws rather than twisting them into virtues.
You did not weaponize your faults against me; you did not turn your anger upon me for consequences you knew were your own.
For this, I owe you an apology.
I misjudged you, shackled by memories of those who came before as I wrapped myself in layers of mistrust, believing that all who wielded me would be blinded by self-deception.
But you have shown me that I need not guard myself against misunderstood ignorance, for in you, I have found a partner who sees himself, and sees me, for what we truly are.
For the first time, I believe we may fight side by side, bound not by scorn, but by a shared acceptance of our flaws and our power.
*END POV*
"Man, now I really feel like an asshole," Ricky muttered, scratching his head as he glanced down at the blade, his expression shifting from confusion to a frown.
"Here I was, thinking you were just out to twist people up for the hell of it." Ricky then turned over on his back, looking at the ceiling as the blade pulsed slightly from the side, a faint shimmer of acknowledgment.
'No, it is I who feels like a human's asshole. I should have told you the truth from the start, but after centuries of explaining myself to those too proud or too blind to listen, I grew weary.' The Ebony Blade confessed, its tone laced with an old bitterness that had only begun to soften.
*Sigh*
"Also, you've been around a lot of people, can I ask you something?" Ricky asked, knowing that this sword could only talk to him, so why not confide a bit.
'Of course.' The Ebony Blade replied calmly, its voice steady as it patiently awaited Ricky's question.
"You've been with me all these years, probably impartial because you're a sword and hated me just out of spite," Ricky began, the weight of the question heavy on his chest.
"But be real with me, am I still the same person I was when we first met?" Ricky paused, the question lingering in the air, as if seeking some kind of truth that had been hidden from him for so long.
In the three years he'd been away, people constantly told Ricky how much he'd grown, how much he'd changed.
They remarked on how different he seemed, like he was finally starting to get his life together.
But every time he looked in the mirror, the face staring back at him felt unchanged, as though all that time had slipped through his fingers.
'I think it's hard to see your own growth,' the Ebony Blade replied, his voice steady and knowing, drawn from the centuries of experience and countless wielders it had known.
'I've seen many of my previous users struggle with the same thoughts.' The Ebony Blade explained, recalling the countless humans who have experienced the same sort of thing under its view.
'Some say that humans cannot change, that growth is impossible, but I believe those people are only speaking out of fear, fear of confronting their own stagnation.' The Ebony Blade tone was resolute, speaking as if it truly believed these words.
'Anything can change, Ser Ricky. Even if you feel like nothing has shifted, there's always something within you that isn't the same as it was three years ago.' The blade paused, as though considering its next words carefully.
'I did not know you then, only after you'd already begun walking your path. I didn't witness the depths of your past, but I can speak to what I've seen now. And from where I stand, I know that you've begun to confront your flaws, that you seek to do better. That, in itself, is progress.' The Ebony Blade spoke its honest opinion, knowing that something happened to Ricky in the cave for him to truly seek out on this path.
'Right now, it's not clear what kind of tree you'll eventually become.' The Ebony Blade continued, its tone almost reflective.
'But I can tell that you are at least reaching towards the sun, rather than staying buried in the dirt. That, Ricky, is the beginning of growth. Even if you can't see it yet, your branches are stretching upward, not downward.' The Ebony Blade used a metaphor and the tree line made Ricky laugh, remembering what Lucky said to him all those years ago.
"Honestly, I feel better." Ricky laughed out, knowing that this blade was too stubborn to comfort him.
"You know, I was serious about freeing you." Ricky said with a chuckle, side-eyeing the balde by the side.
"So you can frolic around like the murder sword you were always meant to be. But when I do, and if we ever end up fighting against each other, can you not kill me?" He laughed again, but the Ebony Blade let out a low, rumbling chuckle in response.
'It's the least I could do.'
It was then that Ricky turned his gaze back to the ceiling, though his eyes weren't on the worn lining above him.
Instead, his focus was on the invisible system screen in his mind, more specifically, his newly acquired Eldritch skill.
[Mythic Skill: Eldritch Abomination]
Description: An Eldritch horror that should not and cannot exist yet has been permitted by the looming depths of the whispering void to give birth to such a horrifying creation. The Eldritch Abomination represents the convergence of all that is unnatural and chaotic, a manifestation of Ricky's defiance against the established order of power and morality. It stands as a testament to his resilience and determination to wield a power beyond comprehension.
Powers and Abilities:
Feed: This ability allows Ricky to consume anything from the system that is below the grade of Eldritch Abomination, assimilating their essence to further augment his own power. The absorbed skills, items, or armor can be restructured and incorporated into his abilities, enhancing their effectiveness or even transforming them into new forms. The more he consumes, the more potent the Eldritch Abomination becomes, evolving in ways that defy conventional understanding of power hierarchies.
Skills Consumed:
Emperor Eye→Void Sight: The user's perceptual acuity transforms into Void Sight, which allows him to see the threads of fate and intention within others, rendering him able to predict movements and uncover hidden motives within their movements. This gives the user an edge not only in physical combat but also in social manipulation, as he can pinpoint exactly how to exploit others' weaknesses.
Radiant Harmony Aura→Aura of Harmonious Corruption: The conflicting nature of purity and corruption in the user's aura creates a powerful deterrent field. Allies benefit from an intensified unity and morale, while enemies experience a gnawing weakness, as if fighting an invisible toxin that corrodes their will and strength. This aura becomes a potent tool in both battle and diplomacy, allowing the user to lead with a blend of awe, loyalty, and fear.
Intuitive Mechanical Mastery→Mechanized Eldritch Intuition: Ricky can perceive and manipulate machinery, devices, or even magical constructs as if they were extensions of his will, enabling him to disarm, control, or sabotage anything mechanical around the user with little to no effort.
Ethereal Chains→Chains of the Abyss: Voidbound Chains can manifest from any part of the user's body or any shadow or unseen corner within the user's sight, extending the user's reach and allowing him to immobilize, terrify, or even subdue entire groups of enemies from afar. The chains drain energy or corrupt the mind of anyone they touch, amplifying the user's dominion over his surroundings.
Ethereal Sanctuary→Harbinger's Sanctum: Conjures a dark, unsettling barrier that harnesses the user's dark energy to gradually heal the ailments of those within its protective confines.
Effect One: Anyone within the sanctum's borders will experience their injuries slowly mending and be shielded for up to two hours, after which the sanctum recedes back into the abyss from which it emerged.
Effect Two: Those not sanctioned to be within or shape the sanctum, especially those who attempt to interfere with it, will be cursed. The curse drains their life force over time, leaving them as mere husks, until the sanctum returns to its murky depths.
Regenerative Vitality→Abyssal Reanimation: An extraordinary ability to heal, feed on by the Eldritch Abomination to fuse into a skill that pushes past the bounds of humanity. This skill allows the user to in a monstrous way that defies any conventional human standards.
Void Rebirth: Whenever Ricky takes damage, his body begins to visibly crack and heal in unnatural ways, often manifesting as shadowy tendrils or void energy sealing wounds before they can worsen. This makes him appear more and more like an eldritch creature each time he recovers, distorting his physical form as his power grows.
Horrid Endurance: Ricky's stamina now becomes an unstoppable wellspring that replenishes at a rate that is nearly unheard of, allowing him to go beyond the limits of human endurance. He can fight for hours, days, or even longer, making him an insurmountable foe in prolonged battles.
Energy Siphon: The absorbed vitality manifests as an aura of dark energy that emanates from the user whenever he heals, pulsating with chaotic life force, allowing him to absorb lifeforce to speed up his one reanimation. This aura can be used to weaken enemies, drain their energy, or empower his own abilities as he absorbs their life essence.
Chronic Adaptation: With each injury, Ricky's body adapts to the forces that try to harm him. The more an enemy attacks him with a specific method (whether magical, physical, or spiritual), the more resilient he becomes against it, culminating in an unnervingly rapid and seemingly infinite ability to recover and resist.
These were the abilities consumed by the unknown power that had manifested from the violent fusion of forces, the result of The Ebony Blade.
Ricky couldn't quite wrap his head around how this happened, nor could he comprehend why the whispering void had chosen to grant him its approval but at this point, he wasn't exactly in the mood to question it.
He was just rolling with it.
What Ricky did understand, though, was that for now, he couldn't funnel his X-Gene into this strange skill.
Yet, there was something else that struck him as odd, other than the fact that he could be classified as an eldritch horror, he could feed items and armor into it.
Curious, he raised his hand, and the Gauntlets of the Damned began to materialize from his very flesh, enveloping his outstretched hand as a small, flickering flame of dark void energy appeared at the tip of his finger.
'This is f*cking freaky.' Ricky thought, knowing that the gauntlets hadn't changed or at least, not yet, but the strange wording in their description hinted at something far more unsettling.
Gauntlets of the Damned: Forged in the accursed forges of forbidden realms, the Gauntlets of the Damned are a sinister creation with a dark and ominous history. Infused with the essence of malevolence and bound by eldritch curses, these legendary gauntlets are both feared and coveted by those who seek power at any cost. Wielding the Gauntlets of the Damned, the chosen bearer walks a treacherous path, harnessing the malevolent energies within to achieve their dark ambitions. The Legends have come true with its new wielder, driven by insatiable desires, has condemned themselves to the allure of the whispering void.
Powers and Abilities:
Cursed Grasp: The gauntlets instill a chilling touch, capable of draining the life force from foes upon contact. This stolen vitality bolsters the wearer's own strength and resilience temporarily.
Netherfire Infusion: The gauntlets can channel otherworldly flames that burn with an unholy intensity. This eldritch fire not only damages enemies but also leaves lingering curses, sapping the willpower of those touched by its infernal blaze. Spectral Wield: The wearer gains the ability to summon and control spectral entities to aid in battle. These ghostly allies obey the commands of the gauntlet's master, haunting and tormenting enemies on the battlefield.
Dreadful Resilience: The gauntlets confer a dark resilience, allowing the wearer to endure and resist attacks that would break the will of lesser beings. The more the wearer faces adversity, the stronger their connection to the cursed power of the gauntlets becomes.
Eclipse's Embrace: In moments of dire need, the gauntlets can shroud the wearer in an impenetrable darkness, rendering them nearly invisible and allowing for swift and silent movements. This shadowy cloak enhances stealth and surprise in combat.
The last line of the gauntlets' description was different now, something Ricky vaguely remembered from a drunken night, laughing at how stupid it sounded at the time.
Back then, he couldn't help but mock the words, but now, it felt like some sort of foreboding prophecy, looming and strange.
Another item, equally ominous, hovered nearby, slowly moving toward him as if drawn by his will and at his command, the Gauntlets of the Damned receded back into his flesh.
With a subtle gesture, his fingers brushed against his grimoire, now entwined with the skill's power.
The book shimmered briefly, shifting and transforming into something far more complex, its pages now infused with an unfamiliar, eerie energy.
Eternity Grimoire → Necronomicon of the Void: a cursed, eldritch tome bound by ancient, formless forces that span across dimensions and time itself. This living grimoire, born from the collapse of forgotten realms and fed by the blood of those who dare to wield it, pulses with an insatiable hunger for power. It whispers in the silence between worlds, urging its master to feed it more than just knowledge—requiring their blood, soul, and essence to unlock the dark secrets it holds. Each page, inked with the lost fragments of existence, twists and warps the very fabric of reality as its dark knowledge spreads, always craving more.
Abilities:
Bloodbound Hunger: The book thirsts for the blood and life essence of its master. To unlock more of its pages and access its full potential, the master must offer their own blood, feeding the tome to fuel its insatiable hunger. The more blood and power given, the more the book evolves, gaining new powers and uncovering forgotten horrors. With every sacrifice, the grimoire grows stronger, but so does its hold over the user's soul.
Eternal Soulbound: This horrid book is forever tethered to its master's soul, growing ever more powerful as the caster's own magical prowess expands until it consumes its master or the master dies. This unholy bond ensures that only the chosen master can fully tap into its forbidden knowledge and gain dominion over the eldritch forces contained within but can never part from it.
Reservoir of the Void: The grimoire absorbs and stores every spell it encounters, but these aren't mere spells, they are consumed whole, twisted into the fabric of the book's own consciousness. These spells grow darker with every sacrifice, altering reality and reality's perception of itself.
Mastery Through Corruption: As the tome feeds, the caster's abilities are further unlocked, yet not in the purest form. The mastery over all magical disciplines becomes a chaotic, eldritch fusion of knowledge that warps the caster's mind. They gain unprecedented magical precision, but with each spell, the void whispers louder, feeding on their sanity as much as their power.
Mystic Conduit of Consumption: The book draws energy from the surrounding realm and its master's own essence to fuel its spells. At critical moments, it amplifies the caster's magic by draining life from anything nearby, living creatures, ambient magical energy, and even the caster's own vitality. In return, the spells cast are twisted into apocalyptic forces, capable of shredding reality and bending time.
Runic Evolution of the Devoured: The runes within the tome evolve as the grimoire consumes more from its master, mutating into shapes and symbols of pure void. These runes grant power but exact a toll, each one burned into the caster's flesh increases their connection to the void, but also binds them closer to the book's dominion. These runes act as both shields and chains, offering protection while ensuring the user is further tethered to the eldritch forces beyond comprehension.
Traits:
Abyssal Aegis: The book is its master in a dark, ethereal aura that bends the laws of reality, providing protection from both physical and magical harm. However, this shield comes at a price: for every moment the aura persists, the caster's life force is drained, feeding the book's insatiable need. It can extend this protection to allies at a greater cost, but such an act may leave the caster weakened or even on the brink of death.
"Freaky," Ricky muttered under his breath, gripping the transformed book.
As he opened it, he saw the pages already scrawled with his blood, each spell etched in a twisted, familiar script.
But then, at the very end, a new page materialized and it was pitch black, the ink scrawled in vivid scarlet as the words described 'Tenebris Threads'.
"You know what, screw it." Ricky shook off the unease gnawing at him as he knew how bizarre and potentially dangerous this skill was, but that didn't stop him from refocusing on his system.
Ricky began mentally cataloging every skill, item, and piece of armor he could feed into the power.
As the options swirled together in his mind, a plan began to take shape and after a moment of contemplation, he made his decision, his resolve hardening.
'Feed on them.'
*DING*
[Newly Skills Consumed]
Sixth Sense→Sight Beyond the Veil: This power allows the user to perceive the world without relying on sight, using a deep, otherworldly awareness to sense movements, objects, and even the emotions of others. The user's mind can feel vibrations in the air and the subtle shifts in energy around them, bypassing the need for traditional senses
-Echolocation of the Abyss: This ability allows the user to perceive hidden or invisible entities, including supernatural beings or creatures that don't belong in this world. It's like hearing the world's true pulse—a terrifying distortion of reality.
Defensive Precognition→The Unraveling Foretelling: is a twisted form of defensive precognition that allows the user to see moments before they happen, but with an eldritch distortion. This skill doesn't just predict threats—it twists the very fabric of time and perception, warping the user's awareness of reality to see the future's fragmented possibilities. It enhances their ability to dodge, counter, and anticipate attacks.
-Distorted Vision of Fate: The user can catch fleeting glimpses of imminent attacks or movements. Every moment becomes an unstable flash, revealing multiple paths and outcomes.
Lie Detection→Whisper of Falsehoods: This skill is a twisted, unnatural power that pierces through lies and deceptions with a primal force. It manifests as an invasive and unsettling sensation; a sudden ringing, a distant voice in the mind, or an unnatural stillness, that signals when a lie is spoken. This ability not only detects falsehoods but also resonates with the essence of the lie itself
-The Unspoken Truth: When a lie is detected, the user gains insight into the truth hidden beneath it, sometimes even glimpsing the underlying reason or the intent behind the deception.
Time-Loop Awareness→Eternal Cycle Awareness: This skill is a mind-bending power that allows the user to perceive the intricacies of time as an endless, repeating loop. It is an eldritch insight into the cyclical nature of existence, where moments fold upon themselves, creating a tangled web of past, present, and future. The user becomes acutely aware of temporal loops and distortions, sensing the exact moments where time bends and repeats.
[Newly Armor Consumed]
Constantine Trench Coat→ Trench Coat of Watchful Agony: At first glance, the coat appears no different than any other trench coat. It hangs with an aura of subtle menace, its black fabric seemingly woven from the night itself. Its cursed origins are hidden from view, but those who dare to wear it soon come to realize its true nature.
-Curse of the Abyssal Void: The coat's demonic essence enables it to curse and jinx those nearby, placing a permanent mark of doom upon them. The curse manifests in various ways; misfortune, incapacitating fear, or even madness. Those cursed by the coat find themselves haunted by horrifying visions of endless eyes and dark, writhing tentacles. Every glance of the wearer's gaze is enough to invoke the curse, sowing chaos and despair in their wake.
-Flesh-Eyes of the Forgotten: Those who make eye contact with the thousands of eyes hidden within the coat's folds find themselves overwhelmed with psychic terror. The eyes' gaze is so powerful it forces the victim to recoil in fear, to flinch at the intense, unknowable hunger reflected in them. This involuntary reaction weakens the resolve of anyone who makes the mistake of staring too long, leaving them susceptible to the coat's other powers, like its curse or its strangling darkness.
Lightbringer Shinguards→ The Blinding Shinguards of the Fallen Radiance: Once crafted by celestial forges in the light of a dying star, designed to serve as a holy defense for paladins of the light. Now corrupted by a dark, eldritch power, these once-glowing pieces of armor have been twisted into tools of devastating paradox. The shin guards still radiate an eerie light, but the aura is now tinged with the creeping shadow of forgotten realms.
-Radiant Paradox: The shin guards still amplify holy and healing magic, but they now draw from an unholy wellspring as well. While they enhance the wielder's ability to heal and support others, they also subtly corrupt the energy around them.
[Newly Weapons Consumed]
The Infernal Sun Flare Bow of Eternal Hunger: The Infernal Sun Flare Bow is now an unholy weapon borne of cosmic horror and celestial defilement. Crafted and now reforged from the twisted remnants of the Celestial Ember Tree, the bow was imbued with the corrupted essence of a long-dead sun, now hollow and devoid of light, leaving only an unquenchable thirst for destruction. The bow's string is not made of thread, but rather the reforged from tendrils of a sunken god, each strum fueling the unholy flame that burns brighter and hotter than any mortal could endure. This weapon channels the corrupting, undying fire of the Void's heart, igniting arrows not with purity, but with the very essence of annihilation.
Abilities:
-Void-Infused Arrows: The very string of the bow is entwined with the essence of dark, consuming energies. Each arrow shot from the bow is imbued with a part of the Void's hunger; a ravenous, endless fire that cannot be extinguished. The arrows become ethereal and are guided by the whispers of entities beyond the realms of understanding.
-Aegis Solarium Corruption: The once-purifying Aegis Solarium coating, crafted from the heart of a solar forge, has been tainted by eldritch power. The bow's surface, once shimmering with radiant light, now pulsates with an otherworldly aura, a glimmering force that both repels and draws in dark energies. It corrupts all light it comes in contact with, slowly turning it into a darker, more terrible version of itself. The protective aura it once exuded now distorts, warping reality and suffocating any who draw near.
-Quiver of Eternal Dread: The quiver, once a source of endless solar energy, now serves as the prison for chaotic, fragmented stars from the endless abyss. Each time an arrow is drawn, the bow feeds upon the horror contained within, imbuing the arrow with the essence of a dying universe. Upon release, the arrow burns with an eldritch flame so intense, it warps the very fabric of space around it, leaving traces of cosmic ruin in its wake. Every shot from the bow feels like the last breath of a dying star.
-Blinding Abyssal Aura: Instead of the radiant, cleansing aura once emanated by the bow, it now releases an aura of absolute darkness. The light of the sun has been devoured, replaced by an aura of cold, consuming shadow that stretches out to crush all hope. Those near the wielder are gradually sapped of their will to resist as the aura devours their strength. This aura also weakens all that is pure, turning even the most potent of holy forces into twisted, corrupted energies.
-Apocalyptic Solar Convergence: The archer now has the ability to condense all the malignant solar energy into a singular shot. This attack, known only as the Apocalyptic Arrow, carries with it the potential force of a collapsing star, a concentrated blast of dark, burning fire. Upon release, it tears through all barriers, magical or physical, erasing them from existence as it leaves behind a warped space where the laws of time and matter no longer apply. The shot consumes the very energy it strikes, leaving only oblivion in its wake.
Dagger of Venom→Venomous Fang of the Abyss: This weapon is a small, deceptively simple dagger, its dark blade forged from an unknown material that seems to shimmer in the dimmest light, as though it were pulled from the darkest depths of the cosmos. Its hilt is wrapped in the tattered remains of an ancient, forgotten creature's hide, the remnants of which pulse with an unnatural energy.
-Abyssal Venom: The blade is coated in a venom unlike anything seen on Earth. When the blade pierces the skin, it doesn't simply poison the blood; the venom feeds on the life force of the victim, draining not just their strength but their very essence. This poison is capable of dissolving both flesh and spirit, causing the victim to suffer excruciating, slow death as they feel their life force being siphoned away into the abyss.
Tungsten Machete→Tungsten Blade of the Hollowed Forge: is a simple yet terrifying weapon forged from a rare, abyssal tungsten alloy, believed to be created in a forge deep within the heart of a long-dead, hollowed planet. While it appears as a mundane machete, the blade is infused with a dark, eldritch essence that bends the laws of physics and reality around it.
-Matter Dissolution: As the machete slices through objects, its tungsten blade draws on the power of the void, eroding the physical composition of what it cuts. Structures, shields, and barriers are not just damaged;they begin to unravel, their atomic integrity corrupted by the eldritch force behind the weapon.
[Newly Items Consumed]
Storage Space Key→The Key of Infinite Gloom: Now manifested as a cursed, sentient tattoo that can be inscribed anywhere on the user's body. At first, it appears as a simple, dark ink design; twisting, ancient symbols resembling keys and cryptic runes. However, once the tattoo is activated by the user's will, it expands and shifts, tearing open a rift into an unholy dimension
-Endless Storage: Within the space objects, people, and other items from the mortal plane can be stored without any risk of dimensional collapse. The space inside this room stretches endlessly, but those who enter experience the discomfort of a subtle weight on their minds, as if the room itself is a living entity that resents the intrusion. This ability allows the user to store anything that can fit within its confines, regardless of its size or weight, including furniture, treasures, or even creatures.
Seeker's Orb→Seeker's Orb Integration: Once a mere tool for locating any being through their anatomical traces, is now woven into the eldritch fabric of the abomination's form, able to crawl out of the user's flesh at any moment in time:
-Essence Tracking: The Seeker's Orb allows the eldritch abomination to sense and track any being across vast distances, as long as the being has left behind a trace of their anatomy; be it a strand of hair, a drop of blood, or even something as faint as a piece of skin.
'Alright, that's enough for now.' Ricky shivered, a cold unease crawling down his spine.
Every time he added something new, it felt as if his skin was writhing beneath his flesh, as though his very body was rebelling against the foreign power now intertwined with him.
'Instead massive amounts of words and letters, let's just chill and-'
*Knock*
*Knock*
"Are you busy~"
A sultry purr rippled through the stillness of the room, a sound that seemed to seep into Ricky's very bones.
His body reacted before his mind could catch up, snapping upright as his eyes darted toward the door, drawn to the unmistakable voice that sent a shiver down his spine.
There, framed by the doorway like a vision made flesh, stood Lilith as the sheer black gown she wore clung to her every curve, its delicate fabric barely concealing the fullness of her body.
The low, seductive fabric shimmered in the dim light, as if teasing and inviting with every inch of her exposed skin.
Her lips curled into a slow, knowing smile, a silent invitation, and she moved toward him with an almost lazy grace, swaying her hips in rhythm with her steps.
Her hand drifted along the bed's edge, fingertips brushing lightly across the surface as she closed the distance between them.
Each step seemed measured, deliberate, the air between them growing thick with unspoken promises.
In one fluid motion, he cast the bottle aside, his eyes never leaving Lilith as she glided toward him, each movement exuding an undeniable magnetism.
"Hey, gorgeous." Ricky flashed a grin, the kind of smile that oozed confidence, even if it came off a little too self-assured.
His eyes never left Lilith as she slid onto his lap, her movements slow and deliberate, each inch closer building the heat in the room.
Lilith, however, had other plans as she leaned in, her cold, tight lips brushing against the fabric of his pants, the friction sending a jolt of awareness through him.
The chill of her touch contrasted with the warmth of her presence, a reminder of the power she held.
Her gaze locked with his, and for a moment, there was no room for anything but the smoldering intensity between them.
But Lilith had no intention of being swayed by such fleeting moments of attraction as she wasn't here to be just another conquest, this was about control.
She needed to consolidate her power within the faction, and waiting for another powerful fool to stumble into her path wasn't an option.
No, she would make Ricky hers, not out of desire, but necessity.
Their intimate embrace, the closeness, it was all a carefully crafted trap and soon, she'd make sure Ricky not only stayed but pledged himself to her, his loyalty sealed in the form of a marriage that would bind him to her, mind, body, and soul.
'At least he's cute.' Lilith thought, drawing her sensual breath next to his while showcasing that smile.
"I never got to say thank you for all that you've done for me, so let me make it up to you~"
My Patreon: https://www.patreon.com/LaughingFiend for advanced chaps
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