Aeta was not the only one furious at Thalion. Though Aeta had suffered greatly at his hands, two other gods had been utterly broken and now faced mortal peril from their loss of power. One of them was Tenebrice.
The backlash he endured was so massive that he now had no choice but to prepare for war. For ages, he had fed upon the strength of the other vampire gods, draining them slowly like a leech drinking endlessly from unwilling veins. Now, they slled weakness. They saw an opportunity to turn the tables.
Tenebrice controlled a vast domain, but it would likely be the first thing to fall. Already, the other gods had gathered at his borders, tightening their grip like wolves circling an injured stag. He needed more ti, more power, a chance to recover what he had lost.
That chance existed in his sanguine thorns. Though most of his investnt in the tutorial had crumbled, not all was wasted. All the thorns had been gathered into a single human, one who had dominated the tutorial at the end. For the gods, it had been a shock, a sudden and inexplicable shift.
Tenebrice still could not comprehend how his Blessed had fallen. He had given her so many advantages it was almost obscene, like handing a mortal the weapons of a god. No one should have been able to defeat her. His suspicion was that an elf had struck her down. A female elf-goddess had suffered an even worse backlash than he, which, in his mind, confird the theory. There was no other explanation.
But Tenebrice had no more Blessed in that tutorial, and he refused to squander precious blessings now. To discover the truth, he would need to spend power he could not afford to lose. A war between the vampire gods was inevitable, and he had to prepare.
At least his Chosen had managed to secure a perfect item from the last special quest. An artifact that could give him a real chance at claiming first place in the upcoming System event. The danger, however, was clear: his Chosen would beco a target. If he fell, Tenebrice’s last hope of recovery would vanish.
Still, he had chosen wisely. His Chosen bore a powerful bloodline. Should the other vampires on New Earth attempt to stop him, they would only beco at for the furnace. In battle between blood mages, his sanguine thorn was the ultimate weapon.
But therein lay his greatest problem.
The very creation that had once elevated him above all others was now turning against him. The sanguine thorn had fed on so much vampire blood that it had evolved far beyond his original design. It was no longer a re tool. It was awakening.
“I am tired of being trapped in your fragile shell,” a woman’s voice bood inside his skull, like molten iron poured into his thoughts. “Why not give in?”
It was, of course, the sanguine thorn. No longer just a weapon, it had ascended to the pinnacle, becoming sothing akin to a god in its own right. The only thing preventing its recognition as such was Tenebrice himself.
“Silence!” Tenebrice roared, fury shaking his voice. “Once I have dealt with the vampire gods, I will deal with you!”
He forced the presence from his mind, but his anger smoldered. The thorn was bound by countless scripts, but the bindings were weakening. Once, the difference in power between master and slave had been so great that such whispers did not matter. Now, the balance shifted. The thorn knew that when the vampire gods clashed, Tenebrice would be weakened, needing ti to recover. Then, it would strike.
Tenebrice despised the situation. But he would endure. He would get his revenge once the rebel gods were crushed. At least the elven goddess did not face mortal danger as he did. The elves, after all, always banded together. Their emperor demanded unity above all.
Still, even if she was not in mortal peril, she must be suffering. That thought gave him a sliver of cold comfort.
He sat down beneath his bloodmoon, letting its dark crimson glow wash over him. The light dripped across his body like a baptism of blood and wrath. Closing his eyes, he steeled himself for the coming war.
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