Argrave stared at Galamon as red mist poured out of his body. He was running things through his head in a panic, yet held out his hands to follow his course of action.
“Remember what we talked about, Galamon,” Argrave called out. “Stay conscious. All your years of experience in fighting this thing—use it. You are stronger than the beast.”
A spell matrix whirled in Argrave’s hand—one of C-rank. Then, his black blood started to come free of his hand, bringing the pain that came with blood magic all too familiar to Argrave. He used the spell [Putrid Paramerion], summoning a potent weapon of blood that took the form of the curved sword from which the spell took its name.
The red mist responded to this spell like piranhas smelling blood in the water. It started to flow towards Argrave, coalescing into biting fangs that threatened to chip away at the impeccable surface of the bloody blade.
“Muriem, Rhomaden,” Argrave repeated. “What do those names mean to you?”
Looking at Galamon, whose eyes had been completely obscured by the glowing red mist pouring out of his orifices, it was difficult to feel as though he was talking to a person.
“How did you meet Muriem?” Argrave asked, expecting no answer. He pulled the blade close to him and knelt until his face was level with Galamon’s. “And how did that lead to that little boy you named Rhomaden? I don’t need the details, just think about it.”
No noise came from Galamon, either way. The people nearby stared at Argrave strangely… all except Anneliese. In his free hand, Argrave cast another spell—a druidic spell. His Brumesingers scampered out of his clothing, surprising both Svetlana and Ganbaatar. The elf, who still held his wire around Galamon’s neck, had the forbearance to refrain from anything stupid. The small fox creatures hated the cold, yet they obeyed Argrave’s order nonetheless. Their mist spread out around them, prepared for combat.
“Keep him steady,” Argrave commanded all nearby. Then, he plunged the blade forth.
The curved sword of blood pierced Galamon’s abdomen, and the snow elf naturally writhed for a moment. The mist pouring from Galamon started to coalesce—not around the blade, but back into Galamon.
“Fight it!” Argrave shouted. “You don’t want this blood. The beast wants the blood. Let the beast have it—let the beast take it! But Galamon, you must refrain, because that’s not what you want,” Argrave said through clenched teeth, fighting past the enormity of his instincts that screamed at him not to hurt his companion.
Galamon’s body was contracting. His hands, rigid by his side, clenched and gripped and spasmed in so many ways. Yet then… Argrave started to notice something else beyond his movements. There was something else… a red echo, so faint it was almost indiscernible. Yet as the time passed, it became so obvious anyone could observe it.
To call the redness emanating from Galamon’s body an echo was not quite right. It did not merely follow what he did… indeed, it had different desires. It wanted the blood, the valuable black blood, placed right directly through it. And Argrave seized on that.
“Yes!” Argrave shouted. “Galamon, think of it! Think of food, of breathing, of drinking water again! Think of setting foot upon the frozen shores of Veiden! Think of stepping past the great ice wall, and setting foot in your home once again!”
The more Argrave spoke, the more this redness started to differ from what Galamon was doing. As though craning against invisible bindings, it reached, pulling against the force, trying to bring its hands inward to grasp the blade of blood plunged into its stomach. The surface of the blade started to chip away, and Argrave could only supply more blood to sustain it.
“What put death in your mind?” Argrave shouted at him. “Your end’s not in sight. Not until you’ve done what the world needs you to do. Your family, your friends… Damn you, you’re going to do what I need you to do. I got a big burden, and I ain’t so tough…” Argrave rose to his feet and put his boot on Galamon’s shoulder. “But you’ve got enough grit for the both of us. Blame fate, blame Veid… but you’re coming with me, Galamon.”
Argrave pushed down with his boot and pulled with both arms. Unlike how it entered, the paramerion fought dreadfully to stay stuck, and Argrave knew he’d hooked the fish he’d been baiting. All watched Argrave with shock and awe… then, the blade shot out, and Argrave staggered back. Galamon slumped over, no strength left in him, and Ganbaatar kneeled as he fell so as not to cut his head off.
When Argrave finally gained his footing… he abruptly realized he wasn’t the only one holding onto the blade of blood that he’d conjured. There was another, and they were larger than even him. With indiscriminate red features, Galamon’s vampiric beast looked at Argrave. And the red construct was most definitely alive. Anneliese had a spell matrix prepared, but obviously feared to cast when the beast was so closely entangled with Argrave.
Argrave barely processed this before the blade in his grip shattered beneath its intense strength. It lunged at Argrave, both hands rushing for his stomach. Argrave tried to retreat to the defense of his Brumesingers as was planned, but it was far faster. One of its hands pierced Argrave’s stomach. Extreme pain exploded from his gut. The other hand…
A southron elf warrior stabbed the vampiric beast through the arm… or rather, a mist warrior conjured by the Brumesingers had. Their chiming howls echoed and their mist spread out, and before long five spears held by five warriors thrust towards the vampiric beast. Recognizing the situation, it disentangled and leapt away with supernatural speed.
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