"Ah, not again! Please, have rcy!"
Serene's cries echoed through the dimly lit chamber, her newly regenerated eyes brimming with tears. Thalion barely spared her a glance. He had been working tirelessly for four days now, perfecting his thod. Adjusting a vampiress's eyes to his power had turned out to be far more complex than he had initially anticipated.
This was his thirty-second attempt.
He had learned much in the process, but at a cost. The repeated use of his essence blood had begun to take its toll, leaving him slightly weakened. He wasn’t in imdiate danger of depleting his reserves, but the strain was becoming an annoyance. Fighting in his human form was still possible, but if this continued, he might be forced to rely on the crippled Eclipsari.
Reports from Kaldrek and Maike painted a grim picture. The undead and vampire forces were amassing, poised to strike at any mont. But despite the looming threat, Thalion was on the verge of success. He could feel it.
The challenge lay in the sheer power coursing through his blood. The vampiric eyes simply couldn’t withstand it. Each ti he tried to bind them to his soul, they shattered, unable to contain the overwhelming force. But he had finally found a solution—one that required patience. He had started reinforcing the eyes gradually, imbuing them with his power in slow, controlled phases. The key was stability. He had been too hasty before, underestimating the delicate balance needed to keep the eyes intact.
Serene, anwhile, had long since broken.
Days spent immobilized within the ritual pillar, subjected to relentless tornt, had shattered her mind. Nearly ten tis a day, her eyes had been carved out, only for them to regenerate and be taken again. Now, at the re sight of the runic spoon, she began to scream and beg.
Thalion paid her no mind.
Her suffering was irrelevant. If anything, it strengthened the black pillar. Not by much—not nearly enough to make a real difference—but still, it was a welcod effect.
With practiced precision, he cut into her eye sockets once more. The vampiress thrashed against the pillar’s restraints, her screams raw and desperate. Tears mixed with blood as her vision was ripped away yet again. Once the empty sockets gaped back at him, he plunged the spiked orbs inside, preventing the natural regeneration process.
Under normal circumstances, she would have passed out from the sheer agony. But the pillar’s curse denied her even that reprieve.
Ignoring her sobs, Thalion stepped away, his attention shifting to the altar, now drenched in crimson.
The freshly harvested eyes glistened slick and gelatinous in his palm. He detested the texture, but it was a necessary step toward power.
Rolling up his right sleeve, he slit open a vein, allowing thick, black-red essence blood to drip into the carved basin of the altar. A faint hum of energy pulsed through the air as his lifeblood mingled with the dark magic that fueled the ritual.
The final step.
He placed the vampiric eyes into the altar’s basin and began infusing them with his power. The process would take hours—long, grueling hours. But it had to be done. He only hoped that, in the anti, those above would hold the line.
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