A water droplet fell from the sky.
Its movement was linear. Its movement was graceful. It fell from a cloud among clouds, veiling the divine sight of the moon.
It fell.
The cold mountain air made way for its arrival. It grazed across the slick surface of the drop. It honed the drop. It sharpened it.
It fell.
It fell among its kin. They were no different, all sharpened and honed by the same frigid wind. The air cascaded down the slopes of a spire that grasped at shrouded skies.
Then it landed.
On the grass. Soft grass. Graceful grass. Sharp grass. A blade within a field of blades.
It was akin to the droplet.
Yet, they were nothing alike. For the grass was green, while the droplet was colorless. For the grass was of solid structure, while the droplet lacked form. For the grass would stay, everlong, while the droplet would soon return back to its overlook.
But both would soon be crimson.
And Crimson blood will spill on both.
The Crimson blood of both, and the cursed blood of one.
Quies, still on the ground, extended his arms. His hands were open, palms facing towards the guards.
Then, the blood fell.
It fell.
It fell and obeyed. It obeyed the will of its new master. Its puppeteer. It fell with compulsion.
"Khhk…"
The guards trembled. Their whole body did. The unexpected act had them unprepared. Now, all of their blood began pouring profusely out of the numerous wounds inflicted on their body.
The arm of the sword guard in the back was now painted crimson red. The once clotted wounds flowed once more. He took a knee, almost toppling over.
The spear guard had lost a quarter of his blood already. He began losing his balance, his feet wobbled. He thrusted his spear into the ground like an elderly man using a cane. He could barely take a step forward.
They had been too arrogant. They thought they had won.
They could have killed Quies and sent him to the depths. They could have ended this quickly.
But they didn't.
And that was a mistake that Quies capitalized on.
'What a fitting name. I'm rending blood…'
Quies swiped his hand, and the blood followed. A mass of fetid liquid streaked through the air. He could already feel his ether and mental fortitude begin to trickle away.
And then, with a flick of his hand, the mass of blood moved towards him. This blood was better than that of a megalodaunt. It was more… human. And because it was, it recognized him as one too.
The rain poured harder on the landing of the spire. It washed away the fetid liquid stained on the blades of grass below him.
Now, the tables were turned.
Now, the guards were the ones kneeling in suffering. Their vision began to falter, their minds starving. The guard in the back was fading in and out of consciousness. The spear guard tried his best to stay strong, but he too had to lower himself, his spear tumbling to the side.
But Quies kelt too. He knelt on his uninjured leg.
He was still in pain. A lot of it at that. His leg was still fractured.
Despite blood enhancement's passive healing quality and his refinement in that technique, it still wouldn't be fast enough to fully mend his femur back together, at least in the time frame he had. He still didn't know whether Valerie would wake up, or whether more guards were coming.
But it was the best he could do, for now.
He visualized the flow of blood in his leg. Well, he visualized how it usually flowed. Currently, things are a mess.
Beneath his skin and muscles, the pooled up blood from his fracture began to flow once more. Similar to what he did with his finger on his first day, his blood flowed through his leg without needing veins or arteries to guide it. It was as if no injuries had altered its flow whatsoever.
As for the femur itself, Quies couldn't do much.
He had never actually experimented with his bones using blood enhancement. He only focused on muscles and general areas of the body to improve his different aspects. He never really thought about enhancing a bone.
Maybe if he learned finer and more precise blood manipulation…
Quies reached out his hand once more, and the mass of blood followed his will.
It flowed and swirled towards him. His mind began to ache with that familiar feeling of ether usage. He had to be careful not to do too much in one instance, or else it would be like the time he first used his mantra. That sharp pain…
The cold, soft blood touched his warm and rough hands.
The edges closest formed themselves into a long hilt.
Then, a crossguard.
And he willed the rest to form a blade sharper than steel.
A longsword made entirely of blood. That was what it was.
Its surface was lusterless, refusing to reflect the utterly shocked faces of the Etrean guards. Its edges were thin enough to split a blade of grass in two from top to bottom.
A blade of blood.
A crimson blade.
With his newly formed longsword, Quies thrusted it into the ground. Trembling, but not weak, he mustered his physical strength and hoisted himself up, despite the agony he would experience.
He rose.
He managed to stand up on one leg and a blade.
"Gah!"
Pain shot up through his broken femur. By now, though, it was a familiar feeling, though, familiar did not always mean pleasant.
He stood there for a moment, contemplating. Hesitantly, he put his whole weight on the sword, and moved his strong leg forward. It felt like everything in the world was trying to stop him. It felt like the world was trying to stop him from moving.
And yet, he did just that.
Quies moved. He moved forward.
he walked.
One agonizing step at a time, he walked.
One step was with his strong leg. Another would be with his blade.
One step brought him forward. Another brought him pain.
One.
Step.
At.
A.
Time.
And then, in front of his opponent, he stood.
The rain fell on the risen, cleansing the stained. The wind blew down on the unmoving, the divine moon shone on none.
He stood. Quies stood.
He stood upon a man, once arrogant, now hopeless. His spear laid on the ground as he knelt. His vision was weak and gray, desaturated. His muscles spasmed. His remaining blood ran cold.
Still, he had the strength to utter a single word under the whisper of the frigid wind.
"Mercy…"