“I won’t tell you anything, human. You and your little base are finished the mont my mother hears of this!”
The elf, Sandor, snarled through clenched teeth, his face flushed red with rage as he glared up at Thalion. He lay tangled on the cold stone floor of the tower, fully ensnared by coils of crimson Virethorn, the enchanted vines tightening with every minor struggle.
Thalion, unfazed, busied himself with unlocking the hidden passage embedded in the floor — a concealed route that led deep beneath the tower to his private chambers. Answers waited below. Or more precisely, a certain black pillar did. Sandor seed too blinded by false hope to recognize the truth; he still believed his kin would arrive any mont to rescue him.
It was amusing, in a way — the arrogance of soone completely powerless, still posturing in the jaws of death. Then again, Thalion would have tortured him either way. Perhaps the defiance saved a shred of the elf’s dignity.
With a lazy flick of his hand, Thalion dismissed the thought and hurled Sandor’s bound body down the narrow stone staircase. He stood there listening, lips curling into a smile as the elf bounced and tumbled, cursing with every painful thud against the walls.
So far, everything was unfolding according to plan. His companions were already preparing for their march on the Black Castle. Once Kaldrek signaled that the undead had committed to an attack, Thalion would simply use the teleportation gate to join them in the blink of an eye. Until then, he had ti for an... experint.
Using Mistform, he drifted weightlessly into the underground chamber and materialized at the base of the stairwell, just as the elf ca crashing down in an undignified heap, still swearing and wheezing from the impact. Thalion wasted no ti — he reached down, gripped Sandor by the throat, and dragged him across the stone floor toward the darkened heart of the chamber, where the black pillar awaited.
“You can’t break , human! You’re weak. Pathetic. Not even worthy of breathing the sa air as ! When my mother finds out, she’ll hunt you down and flay you alive, heal you, and do it again!”
Sandor’s voice echoed through the chamber, but the sound was swallowed by the ancient stone walls, unheard by anyone beyond. As they neared the pillar, faint, ragged sobs and pained whimpers drifted from the vampires bound within.
The mont Sandor crossed the threshold of the pillar’s aura, his bravado evaporated. His throat bobbed with a dry swallow, and a tremor ran through his limbs as he sensed the trapped creatures, their endless agony radiating from the black stone like a silent storm.
“You can’t put in there — not with those abominations!”
The elf’s voice cracked, rising into a panicked screech as his body strained against the vines. Thalion paid him no mind. With chanical precision, he shoved the elf forward, pressing him into the living black stone until only his head remained free.
“Now,” Thalion said, lowering himself into a worn leather chair conjured from his spatial ring, “tell everything about that wind spell of yours.”
Silence.
The elf clenched his jaw, refusing to speak, though the panic still trembled at the edges of his expression. The chamber grew still, save for the quiet drip of water from the vaulted ceiling and the occasional ragged breath of the imprisoned vampires.
When Sandor finally parted his lips, it wasn’t to confess, but to spit another insult. Thalion sighed, his form shifting fluidly as he morphed into Eagly and without hesitation unleashed a bolt of crackling lightning at the pillar.
The room pulsed with raw energy. Screams tore through the chamber, overlapping in a dissonant symphony of agony as the electricity surged through every creature bound to the stone, including Sandor. The pillar’s structure trapped the current, turning every second into an eternity of excruciating pain, the tornt intensifying with each heartbeat.
“Stop! Stop it, you maniac! I’ll tell you, just stop!”
The elf’s voice shattered between sobs and shrieks, barely able to form coherent words, but Thalion’s expression remained unmoved. He funneled even more power into the storm, letting the current crackle and dance along the pillar’s surface. If the elf could still form words, it ant he wasn’t quite finished.
The torture dragged on for hours, the air thick with the scent of scorched hair and the coppery tang of blood. One by one, the vampires slipped into unconsciousness, their bodies hanging limp in the pillar’s grasp.
At last, just as another bolt was about to fall, Sandor broke.
“Please! I’ll talk! It’s a bloodline skill. I inherited it — from my family!”
Thalion’s eyes sharpened. He let the power drain from the room, the glow fading from the stone as the silence settled once more. Remaining in his Eagly form, he padded a few steps closer, keen to catch every word.
“A bloodline skill,” Thalion repeated softly, more to himself than the elf. “That’s new.”
From what little he knew, bloodlines were rare and powerful — but the existence of bloodline-bound skills was sothing entirely foreign to him. His mind was already racing through possibilities. Perhaps the secret wasn’t in training, but sothing embedded within the body — a trait passed down like hair color or eye shape.
He would have to dig deeper.
“So then,” he said, voice low and edged with hunger, “tell everything. What exactly is a bloodline skill, and what bloodline flows in your veins?”
He leaned in, his mind already wandering to the next step. If the ability was locked in the body, perhaps all he needed was the right piece. An organ, perhaps. Or a fragnt of bone. Either way, the elf would answer — one way or another.
“I don’t have a bloodline—only the skill. None of the other elves even know my family carries one,” Sandor stamred, spitting a thin line of blood onto the cold stone floor. His voice trembled, barely holding together under the weight of pain and exhaustion.
Thalion’s gaze sharpened, his pulse quickening as possibilities coiled in his mind like a loaded spring. If this so-called bloodline skill was only an extension of so hidden genetic trait... just how powerful must the bloodline itself be? And more importantly: could it be stolen?
So far, the system had allowed him to absorb abilities from slain beasts, although so skills always erged diluted or missing entirely. But a bloodline — a complete, inherent lineage of power — was sothing else entirely. Could it be extracted? Could it be copied? If anyone could figure it out, it would be him. After all, few people understood the nature of blood better than he did.
“The na of my mother’s bloodline is Zephyrborn Lineage,” Sandor continued, his voice cracking beneath the strain. “When you inherit it, you beco one with the wind. My skill is called Galeform — Breath of the Tempest. It allows to dissolve into pure wind, shape weapons from air itself, and even regenerate any injury.”
His words rushed out in a single desperate exhale, his wide eyes betraying the raw fear boiling just beneath the surface. For a mont, Thalion almost considered pulling the elf free from the black pillar. Almost. But then he rembered the promises of flaying and retribution that had filled the elf’s mouth only hours before.
He’ll survive, Thalion thought coldly, fishing another healing potion from his ring and forcing it between Sandor’s cracked lips. There was still more to learn.
“What are the downsides?” Thalion asked, his voice quiet but edged with steel. “No skill is flawless. You can’t be truly invulnerable.”
Sandor swallowed hard, struggling to gather enough breath to speak. His body trembled, barely held together by the potion’s fading magic.
“The mana cost,” he rasped at last. “It’s enormous. It drains the entire mana pool in seconds. The healing is strong enough that most wounds barely register, but...” He hesitated, the words clawing their way out. “ntal attacks... they bypass it entirely. You’re helpless against them.”
As if to underscore his words, a thin stream of silvered saliva trailed from the corner of his mouth. His head sagged forward, as though the invisible strings that had kept him upright had been severed. The elf had reached his absolute limit.
Thalion leaned back, fingers steepled in thought. Even with that weakness, the ability was absurdly powerful. But what intrigued him more was the idea of ownership. If he could take the skill... why not the entire bloodline? Perhaps it wasn’t such a tragedy if the other elves ca hunting for him. It might even save him the trouble of finding more test subjects.
His thoughts turned toward the system shop. The recent slaughter of the vampire horde had left his credit balance well above twenty million. Maybe, if he was lucky, the shop would offer him precisely the knowledge he needed.
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