Jackal Among Snakes

“I’ll be watching,” Vasilisa told Argrave. “But like I said, it’s not like there’s much I can do to help. This is your battle, not mine.”

Argrave nodded at her, then turned his head back to the ocean ahead. Most of his clothes barring his underclothes had been removed and set aside. He knelt in the sand before the bloody ocean, facing Chiteng. He didn’t know why, but he couldn’t be at ease unless the giant elven god was in his sight. He didn’t think he was in danger, yet even still he couldn’t dispel this idiosyncrasy of his.

He had gone through this procedure in his head half a thousand times. Even then, he wasn’t quite sure he’d be able to do it right, so he ran through it again. The fundamentals of this A-rank ascension had been peer reviewed by peers that weren’t really peers—namely, they were people far better than him at magic. People like Anneliese, Castro, Rowe, Vasilisa, Hegazar, Vera, and essentially every powerful friend he’d made had their hands on this process of Argrave’s.

They had refined the method greatly. Argrave thought that his undying soul was a clear and necessary element for this procedure, but Rowe and Castro had analyzed that idea and applied it to a normal soul. After redevelopment, they made it work with any person, not just someone who so happened to be very lucky and born with an undying soul. Or unlucky, depending on whether or not a necromancer got their hands on them.

Having an undying soul amplified the power of this A-rank ascension beyond compare, however. Argrave’s base idea was simple, inspired by seeing the vampiric beast within Galamon. He would use his soul as an anchor for what he called ‘blood echoes.’ Like the silver bracer on his arm currently, these would store the essence of blood magic, eliminating the need for the caster to use their own blood in blood magic. Additionally, they could be projected and used elsewhere.

With an undying soul… Argrave could create as many of these echoes as he wanted. He had the heaviest anchor in this world for them to attach to. And with his black blood, forget blood magic—these echoes could be a store for all magic. He could project these bloody apparitions and make a firing squad of deadly magic—deadly blood magic, at that. All of this… at zero cost to health and wealth.

The idea was simple. Was doing it simple? Not particularly. Argrave needed to rewire his veins, essentially. It wasn’t his veins, in truth—it was more so the magic conduits that drew blood from the body when blood magic was cast. He had to link those to his soul, inextricably. The ‘inextricable’ part was the tricky bit. These conduits were fussy. Blood echoes were foreign to them, and they liked to revert to the mean.

These conduits would become both the method for the creation of blood echoes, and the path by which A-rank matrixes were completed. It was similar to other ascensions involving blood magic—Argrave hoped that meant Blood Infusion into other spells would be viable for this method. Regardless, he had to place his blood pipes into their proper place.

Naturally, toying about with the pipes made for blood magic wasn’t risk-free. And so Argrave came here.

Argrave’s breathing grew heavier as he recognized what he was about to do. He held out his hand and cast an exceedingly simple spell of blood magic. He was cognizant of slight pain as the spell completed, but ignored that and sought out the conduits that siphoned his blood into the primal power of the sacrificial magic.

After a time, he found one, drawing away his blood for its purpose. Then another, another, all up and down the vessel that was his body. His will was a tangible thing in his body, like a sparking imagination moving through his body with his hand guiding it. He slowly took a survey of all the spots in his body siphoning his vital essence into magic. One after another, he got his hands on them. He found his soul, too—Vasquer had helped him with this part, so it was considerably easier.

With everything in place, he pulled the conduits away.

Fiery pain lit up Argrave’s entire body, yet he stayed firm. He moved these conduits towards his soul, hoping to get them all into rough place where he might then do a more precise manipulation. It was a trying task, like trying to pull fifty separate wires precisely with only two hands. And the pain… the pain didn’t stop. The pressure kept growing and growing, pushing out against the container that held it in—namely, his mind.

Argrave felt pulled back to this world with startling clarity. He hunched over and puked blood into the already-red ocean. It wasn’t just puking, though—his eyes, ears, nose, all of him was bleeding. He heard people panicking behind him—Vasilisa, Orion, Nikoletta. He succumbed to the terrible sensation. Meanwhile, a great budding warmth spread up within him, mending the wounds as quickly as they came. It was the power of this elven realm.

After a long, long while, Argrave felt cognizant of the world again. Vasilisa held him, preventing him from dipping headfirst in the red ocean. Her blue eyes were wide, concerned, and trembling.

“Small pipe leak. I’ll get it fixed in no time.”

you?” Vasilisa held him,

easy. Not my first time bleeding

looked at his body. Already, the pain was gone—the elven realm had healed him, just as he suspected. He took an

“Alright,” Argrave nodded. “Again.”

beside him. “Again?!

Argrave said firmly, then raised his hand with

#####

surprised when you contacted me,” said a tall blonde man, a steel helmet depicting a boar resting in the crook of his arm.

with his glaive to his left. He

said simply. “We didn’t part on the best of

nodded slowly. “Because of Titus,

done all the same.” Boarmask

wasn’t exactly jumping for joy when I left Sethia. You saw what became of me there. Paraded about through town, mocked,

go back?” Boarmask stared,

long time ago,” Durran pointed,

then placed his helmet down. “I

Do,” Durran corrected. “Actually… I was mostly working under his sister in the latter days. Still, she’s got people willing

his

to the side. “Plan’s pretty simple. Argrave told me Fellhorn’s going to come to the Burnt Desert,

his

missing,” Boarmask took slow, steady steps

a hundred. But you can learn them as we

There’s no way you’d do this with just the two of us, of course.” He watched Durran’s face, and

isn’t one person, so of course not. But Argrave started alone, and look where he is now,” Durran waved

was the royal bastard of King Felipe III,”

to the last wyvern-rearing tribe in all the Burnt Desert,” Durran pointed his thumb at his

knuckles against his helmet, sighing. “What in

of a severed head,” Durran nodded. “Want to know a little