Kalon Bloodborn's POV
This district of the citadel was floored with the same white cobblestones. With each stride, it seemed to swallowed the sound of every footfall. Here, the air was heavy with a sweet scent. Something that had been put in place because of the bier rooms.
Navigating its chambers was a tedious task. Over the past few months, my status as the patriarch's favored student had opened doors that were previously sealed to the younger generation. I had established a presence that worked like the stone plinths here: one to anchor myself to these lamians, and another to raise my name above the rest.
Initially, I had assisted the senior scholars by fetching allocated tools: scalpels, silver threads for closing ruptured vessels, and heavy glass jars with runes designed to stabilize any mana form.
Later, as Lord Cian's patronage became public knowledge and my own proficiency in blood-transmutation grew, I was permitted to observe the preparations of the deceased. Many times I watched with detachment as the elders worked on the few fallen celestials. Because of these frequent visits, I had cultivated a strategic friendship with the guards assigned to the district.
As I approached the heavy doors of the one bier room, Mildred was already there. He leaned against his pike with a posture that suggested he was far more interested in his rations than his duty. He was a bumbling, talkative Lamian. It was clear he had been assigned to the bier rooms because he lacked the sharp, combative edge required for the front lines of the Great Ruins.
"Oh, you finally made it, Kalon!" Mildred exclaimed, his voice sounding loud in the heavy silence of the cobblestone halls. He pulled at the collar of his stiff uniform, his face pinched with an expression of deep-seated discomfort. "I tell you, boy, the acrid smell coming off this body today... it's making me more than a bit uneasy. I've got gooseflesh on my skin that won't go down, and my mana feels like it's trying to crawl out of my own throat. It's that Aeolian warrior, Dregol. There's something... that poison seems to be causing it."
I offered a well-practiced smile, tilting my head in a gesture of shared burden. "It's the residual mana from the Wraith attack, Mildred. It must have lingered in his marrow long after the heart stopped. I'm here to finish the final inventory of the reagents for the morning ritual. I'll handle the heavy lifting for a while. You look like you could use a breath of fresh air."
"Will you? Oh, praise the Oracle!" Mildred let out a long, shaky breath, his eyes wide with relief. "I won't be long then. I just need to go find some of that scented snuff down in the western block to clear my head. My stomach is uneasy and I'm seeing spots. You're a lifesaver, Kalon."
"Take your time, Mildred. The quiet ones aren't going anywhere," I said, watching his retreating form vanish into the long, white-stone hallway. I waited until the sound of his shuffling, clumsy footsteps died away completely. Only then did I step into the room and turn the heavy iron bolt with a firm, decisive clack.
I was alone with the dead.
The chamber had a stone plinth in it center. The sigil of the fallen Aeolian on it
I pulled back the cloth, revealing Dregol.
The Aeolian's face was a ghostly pale, his features frozen in a mask of grim. I heard he was a polished warrior. One with immense physical power and skilled mana art. But now he looked like a statue carved from ashen stone. The poison that had claimed him had left a trail of destruction that was visible even through his skin. Sickly green burns crawled up his limbs like vine, contrasting to his pale, lifeless flesh.
'Calm your mind, Kalon. This is only way forward. My resolve should not break here. Quickly...I must finish this quickly.' I thought to myself.
I set my tools out on a small silver tray, the blade catching the dim light of the lamps. My hands remained steady, though my pulse was rather frantic. I knew that in Enora, it was strictly forbidden to take the body of a demon, or even to desecrate the remains of a celestial for study. We were taught that even in their monstrous, transformed states, demons were once our kin and must be respected. Raiders were expected to kill them to end their pain, and nothing more. But I knew better.
This respect wouldn't stop the next wraith from tearing through our ranks.
I made the first incision. A long, clean line across Dregol's chest.
The blade cut through the cold, stiff flesh with a faint, wet sound that echoed off the cobblestones. Working with the mastered precision, I successfully demarcated the region of the heart. I maintained my careful movements. As I moved deeper, bypassing the layers of muscle and the hardened ribs of the Aeolian, the air in the room thickened. It tasted of metal and decay. Finally, I reached his heart.
Dregol's heart was a dull, greyish hue, encircled by a web of interconnected vessels that branched off into the surrounding tissue. Much like the roots of a dying tree. Many of these vessels were stained a vibrant, toxic green.
I reached in and touched it.
The heart felt firmer than a normal one. It was also much denser, more resilient, as if the poison had reinforced the muscle fibers even as it corroded the life-force. Touching it made my fingers feel strangely itchy. It no longer pulsed with mana, but the moment I applied a small, jolt of my own blood mana, the heart reacted with a violent, fitful contraction that sent a shudder of revulsion up my arm.
"Incredible," I whispered, my voice monotone in the empty room.
The poison was far more deadly than any I had encountered in the lord Cian's study. I deduced that its potency had been even greater at the moment of the strike. It had only weakened now as it began to dissipate. It had a similar origin to Lord Cian's toxins, likely because the patriarch had modeled his poisons after the Asurans. This particular Wraith, the fully transformed demon that had struck Dregol, was once an Asura.
'Its poison must have turned the warrior's own blood against him.'
I severed the connections of the heart and vessels. Taking it out carefully, and placing it into a stabilization jar I had hidden within the heavy folds of my boyar cape.
My goals remained the same. I needed the storage ring to get the bodies of demons, and I needed to learn to mimic Dregol's unique mana signature using his heart. Every celestial's mana signature had a unique cadence, and it was the only key that could unlock the storage ring.
Now came the most delicate part of the deceit. The replacement.
Using my own blood mana, I began to harvest cells from the edges of the cavity I had created. Manipulating his cells, forcing them to multiply and weave into a mass of flesh. I shaped it into a replica of the heart, ensuring it had the same nature so that it would not feel off when he's taken away to the floating mountains. Now, it was structured in such a way that if a senior scholar happened to glance, they would notice nothing.
I covered Dregol's face once more, pulling the cloth back into place with a steady hand.
I sat on a small wooden stool, closing my eyes and forcing my breathing to return to its normal pace.
A few minutes later, the iron bolt on the door rattled.
"Kalon? You still in there?" Mildred's voice called out, sounding much more cheerful now that he had his breath of air.
I stood up, adjusting my cape to ensure the jar was securely hidden against my side. I unbolted the door and stepped out, meeting the guard with a nod. "All finished, Mildred. The inventory is complete."
"Good, good," Mildred said, leaning back against the wall and tucking his pike away. "I don't know how you do it, boy. Spending all that time in there. It's too still for me. Give me a lively tavern and a warm meal any day."
"Everyone has their calling, Mildred," I replied, walking past him with swift strides.
As I made my way back through the district, I began to reassess what I had accomplished.
Now, I had a way to mimic Dregol's mana signature. I was ready to go to the great ruins.
'A path of no return' I thought of what my dear friend warned.
Even if Damon was right. I would do it again a thousand times over. The Asurans had fallen, the fully formed wraiths were rising. Time could only determined our fall.
If I were the only one brave enough to steal from the dead and keep the living, so be it.