Tales of the Endless Empire
Chapter 227: Oh, a Bloodline Skill! Yoink

In a secluded cultivation chamber dominated by a towering black pillar, a man sat cross-legged within a sprawling ritual circle, more than twenty meters wide, cursing under his breath. The very air thrummed with dense power, vibrating with an unseen force that made the vampires and the lone elf watching shiver with unease. For nearly an entire day, the human had painstakingly drawn the intricate formation, using nothing but his own burning blood and now the first major hurdle had appeared.

"Seriously, I’m starting to hate this damned bloodline," Thalion muttered darkly as he extinguished yet another small fire igniting behind him. His bloodline burned from within, not usually a problem, but the rampant ignition of random fires around him disrupted the delicate formation.

Each time the ritual was damaged, it took painstaking effort to correct. He had ordered Maike and the others to wait for him, never imagining the process would drag on for so long. Several times, frustration tempted him to abandon the task, yet the complexity and stakes of the ritual pulled him deeper into its grip.

Not only did he have to weave the massive blood-etched diagram into the stone floor, but he also had to construct a second formation inside his very soul, weaving spirit veins together, something he had never attempted before. Fortunately, his soul was robust and honed by previous training, or he might have failed already.

Now, everything was finally prepared. The truly dangerous part was about to begin: forging the tendrils that would extract the elf’s bloodline skill. The knowledge he had acquired about soul skills was vast and overwhelming, much of it still beyond his comprehension, but for now, he understood the essentials. He knew which fragment of the elf's soul needed to be severed and merged into his own.

To accomplish this, Thalion had to cut a piece from his soul first, infusing it into the bloody tendrils currently writhing like living serpents from his shoulders. Only thus could they precisely slice into the elf’s spirit. It was a delicate dance of balance and precision; one misstep and the skill would be lost forever.

This wasn't merely a matter of extraction. Thalion would also need to transfer a shard of his own soul into the elf, binding and stabilizing the connection, similar to the transfer he had performed with the vampiress’s eyes. Without this step, the elf’s soul would attempt to regrow the missing part, potentially rendering the stolen bloodline skill inert before Thalion could integrate it.

So many points of failure loomed. Cut too much, and the elf’s soul would regenerate elsewhere. Cut too little, and the integration would collapse. To make matters worse, Thalion’s infernal bloodline continued to ignite flares of fire whenever he expanded his spiritual awareness, forcing him to douse flames constantly to protect the ritual.

The last hour had been spent maintaining perfect control, holding the reinforced tendrils steady while extinguishing errant fires before they could mar the blood-etched formation. The more he pushed his awareness outward, the more the unstable mana density responded to him, increasing the chaos. But he could not wait any longer. His preparations were as complete as they could be. With his will hardened, Thalion turned his focus toward the elf.

Multiple soul-weakenings had already been inflicted with Thalions gaze. The elf now hung limply, his body suspended with only his feet still trapped inside the black pillar. His spirit was so diminished that he posed no resistance whatsoever. From the shadows, the vampires observed in breathless awe as the crimson tendrils descended toward the elf, their tips targeting a spot just above the heart.

Thalion moved with agonizing slowness, guiding the blood-forged tendrils into the elf’s body. With his soul woven into them, the tendrils ignored the physical flesh, instead diving straight toward the spirit, though the surrounding tissue blackened and smoked from the sheer heat of their passage.

This was the most crucial moment. The core of the bloodline skill could reside in different places within a being’s soul, but most often, it lingered near the heart. Thalion needed time to be sure. For over two tense minutes, he probed, feeling his way through layers of essence — snuffing out two more minor fires on the ritual circle in the process. The sensation of cutting into a soul was unlike anything he had ever experienced; even with spirit-forged blades atop his tendrils, it was slow, excruciating work.

As he sliced, he constantly infused the wound with soul-enriched blood to prevent any healing. Ten agonizing minutes crawled by before he finally managed to sever the desired fragment: the core of the elf’s bloodline skill. Yet the task was not over. Before removing it, he had to encapsulate the fragment within a bubble of his own soul and blood, shielding it — and he still needed to carve a corresponding hollow into his soul-body to receive it. Not just anywhere, but precisely aligned, or the transplant would fail.

He needed to excise the exact same fragment from his own soul, or the entire ritual would fail. When stealing stronger bloodlines, it was often necessary to reshape one’s soulbody until it mirrored the victim's almost perfectly — a daunting task that could take months. Thankfully, none of his current targets had yet refined their soulbodies, sparing him that agony. Otherwise, he might have been trapped here far longer.

Even so, cutting a piece from his soulbody and preventing it from healing immediately — unlike the small wounds created for the tendrils — was excruciating. The mounting pain added to the immense pressure of maintaining control: snuffing out the flames ignited around him, holding the elf's fractured soul steady, and ensuring the ritual's integrity. Moving the severed chunk of his own soul toward the elf, aligning it with surgical precision, and finally transferring it into the wound left in the elf’s spirit was a brutal, delicate process — but somehow, it worked.

The elf’s soulbody immediately began to reject the foreign intrusion, trying to expel or crush Thalion’s soul fragment. To counter it, Thalion had to pour even more power into the transplant, which in turn caused volatile spikes in mana around the ritual. Parts of the pentagram caught fire again, but he kept calm, dousing the flames as swiftly as they appeared while inching the elf’s spirit closer to his own. Now came the most dangerous part: the fusion. Success, the ancient notes had warned him, was not guaranteed. Even when performed perfectly, sometimes the soul simply refused to accept a foreign piece and no one truly understood why.

Pain flared the instant the elf’s soul entered his body. Thalion felt the residual will of the fragment battering against his consciousness, trying to wrest control away, trying to drive him out. But the resistance was weak, no real threat compared to Thalion’s iron will. He endured, grinding forward. Only once did a moment of pain nearly cause him to forget a flame or lose control of the soul fragment embedded in the elf — a mistake that would have ruined everything.

The process dragged on agonizingly for over an hour, each second feeling stretched thin by tension and pain. Only once the final tendrils of resistance died away did Thalion allow himself to collapse, slumping to the ground, utterly drained. He lay there for a few moments, feeling the elf’s soul fragment slowly fuse into the fabric of his own. It had worked. Against all odds, the assimilation had succeeded. With a weary smile, Thalion called up his status screen — and there, newly inscribed, was the reward for his ordeal:

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Emberform — Breath of the Pyre (Bloodline)

The user’s body dissolves into living flame, their form shifting into dancing tongues of fire that twist and flicker through the air. In this state, the Ashbound scion becomes immune to conventional weapons; blades and arrows pass harmlessly through their burning silhouette. Emberform allows passage through cracks, scaling walls as a cascade of embers, and grants blistering speed. While transformed, the user can forge weapons from pure flame like swords, whips, or spears. Each born from the heart of the pyre. These spectral arms strike not with weight, but with searing essence, burning both flesh and soul. Wounds inflicted continue to smolder, spreading fire to anything flammable nearby. However, this power is unstable against opposing elements. Exposure to water or cold can extinguish the form, forcing a return to human shape, weakened and vulnerable. Additionally, the Emberform offers no protection against mental attacks. The skill consumes a tremendous amount of mana but grants rapid regeneration to the user's physical body.

"Finally," Thalion muttered, his voice raw. Black spots danced at the edges of his vision, and exhaustion gnawed at his limbs, but the satisfaction burning in his chest was undeniable. He finally possessed his first bloodline skill. Even better, the transition from wind affinity to fire was a blessing. His divine skill would adapt Emberform to the strongest elemental affinity of each transformation, making the skill absurdly powerful in any form he chose.

Curious, Thalion checked the core of his bloodline, but saw no changes. It seemed a single bloodline skill didn’t hold enough weight to reshape his fundamental essence — at least not yet. But that was a worry for another day. For now, he was finally finished with the bloodline work.

He had kept the others waiting for an entire day and urgently needed to organize the next move. Not that the others had spent the time idly — they understood it would take longer than expected.

At last, he sent a message to Maike, letting her know he was ready.

"Finally! What took you so long? We really started to worry. A lot happened — I hope you’re still in top form," came Maike’s immediate reply.

"You don’t want to know," Thalion answered after a moment's pause. Some things were better kept secret. Aloud, he continued, "Anyway, what’s the situation on your side?"

He wouldn't share the details of the ritual or the bloodline acquisition. What he would tell them, however, was that the battlefield had shifted: there were now entities out there far stronger than the vampires they had faced before, creatures whose power dwarfed theirs alarmingly.

Thalion pushed the unconscious elf back into the pillar's embrace, ensuring it was secure before making his way to the meeting room. Maybe this time, he thought, he would be the first to arrive. But as he stepped inside, that hope was immediately dashed — Kaldrek, Maike, Josh, and Jack were already seated, waiting.

“Oh wow, you were quick for once,” Thalion said with a grin, lowering himself onto a chair at the round table. He carefully reined in his aura, suppressing the heat radiating from his body to avoid igniting the surroundings. The Emberform still pulsed under his skin, wild and unstable. He wasn’t entirely sure how to control it yet and once the fighting started, stray flames could give away his strength. It was unlikely that anyone would guess he had acquired a bloodline skill, but even a hint of it was information Thalion preferred to keep from potential enemies for as long as possible.

"A lot has happened while you were gone," Maike began, her tone brisk. "We identified the leaders of the other two human factions. One is Kael, with maybe five thousand people total under his command. The other is Logan, an infighter specializing in lightning, and he’s likely carrying a high-tier blessing. As for the elves... we know little. Their numbers sit somewhere between three to four thousand, but they remain an unknown."

She paused briefly as Thalion nodded, taking it all in.

"All the human bases are growing rapidly," Maike continued. "Survivors from earlier stages are being teleported here. Over a thousand new people have joined us, although most of them are severely underleveled."

It took a while for everyone to assemble, but soon the room was filled: ten elite fighters, along with Kargul and Evelyn, gathered around the war table. They had worked hard organizing strike teams: some were assigned to safeguard healers, others to defend the skyships. The preparations were solid. Still, the question remained — should they even attack the undead at all? And if so, when?

It was tempting to delay. If they waited, they could let the others bleed themselves against the undead, suffering losses while Thalion’s faction conserved its strength. On the other hand, destroying the undead's pillars didn’t grant any direct rewards. True treasures were likely hidden within the Black Fortress itself. It made no sense for valuable relics to be left vulnerable near the catacombs. Besides, items like Thalion’s cultivation chamber couldn’t be stored in space rings — meaning some prizes had to be physically guarded.

There was also the tactical advantage. Mapping out the Black Fortress could reveal connections between the catacombs and the surface — and in the catacombs, escape tokens couldn’t be used. It was perhaps the only place where Thalion could kill elite enemy fighters without giving them a chance to flee.

"I say we smash the Black Fortress," Kargul broke the silence, his deep voice cutting through the room's tension. "There’s a red orc I owe a beating. Also, why not just park our forces out of range of their defenses and wait? When the others attack the undead, the defenders will have to choose: stay or abandon their posts. The moment we see them teleport away, we strike — a few skirmishes should be enough to soften the Black Fortress for a final assault."

Evelyn nodded approvingly. "And if Kael or the elves try something shady, we’ll have our backs covered."

Thalion had to admit, it was a good plan — clean, flexible, and smart.

"And depending on how long it takes, we can always turn our attention back to the last catacombs," Maike added with a sly smile. "Whether we breach the fortress or not, we’ll still come out ahead."

The others murmured in agreement, heads nodding around the table.

"I have a question," a man in a simple monk’s robe spoke up, his voice calm and respectful. "First, where exactly do we stand with the other human factions? And second — what about the sand elementals? If we plan to shift the battlefield to the catacombs, we’ll have to pass through territories full of them."

Right — the sand elementals. Thalion grimaced inwardly. He had completely forgotten about those nuisances.

"If we’re ready to move tomorrow," Thalion said, leaning back in his chair with a broad, mischievous grin, "then we should inform the elves. As for the sand elementals... I’ll deal with them tonight. If all goes well, the desert will be a lot less crouded by morning."

Outside, the sun was already dipping low, casting long shadows across the compound. Thalion still had a few hours to test his new abilities — and then, he would visit the desert.

Carnage was about to be unleashed.