The Bloodbound Veil

"Our master... has looked into your eyes, Inquisitor!" The head of the black-robed executioner was severed before his body could even hit the floor. Blood spurted from his neck, soaking the red puddle filling the floor of the abandoned slaughterhouse. A few seconds prior, the man had still been standing before Silas with a confident smile. Now, his body collapsed lifelessly, while his head rolled past fragments of bone and stopped right near the exit. Silas did not move. He hung in the center of the room with both shoulders impaled on large iron hooks. Thick chains bound his wrists, forcing him to endure in a painful position. Fresh blood continued to flow from his wounds, dripping onto the floor and joining the puddle forming beneath his feet. Around him, members of the Bleeding Hollow cult stood in a circle. They wore shabby black robes with hoods concealing most of their faces. Their voices echoed in an unknown ancient language, creating a gruesome rhythm among the damp stone walls. A cultist approached carrying a serrated knife. "The blood of an Inquisitor will open the gate that has been sealed all this time," he said. "Tonight, our master will rise." Silas raised his head with great effort. "If you expect me to beg for mercy, you have chosen the wrong person." The cultist gave a short laugh. "You still have the courage to speak?" "I just want to know who I am going to kill first." The knife immediately sliced the skin along Silas's ribs. Pain seized his body. His muscles tensed, while the iron chains creaked from his reflexive movement. He clenched his teeth, holding back the scream trying to escape his throat. The cultist repeated his cut. Blood flowed increasingly heavily. Silas had faced hired assassins, creatures from other dimensions, and sorcerers capable of destroying a district in a matter of minutes. Yet, not a single one of those experiences made him immune to pain. The human body has limits. And his body was drawing ever closer to those limits. "More blood!" someone from the cult circle shouted. The candlelight in the corner of the room flickered violently. The air suddenly turned cold, while a thin grayish mist crawled from cracks in the floor. The stench of blood, burning flesh, and rotting aether energy blended into a sickening aroma. Silas felt something stir deep within his soul. Something that had been asleep all this time. Something he never truly understood. Don't. That voice appeared in his mind, so faint that he thought he was merely hallucinating. Silas closed his eyes. Don't wake me up. He recognized that voice. A voice that sometimes surfaced when he stood at death's door. A voice that always helped him survive impossible battles, yet left a horrifying emptiness in his memory after everything ended. For years, Silas tried to ignore it. Now, that voice echoed once more. And this time, it did not sound like a warning. That voice sounded terrified. "The ritual is almost complete!" the cult leader shouted. "Recite the final chant!" All the cult members raised their hands. The red symbols on the floor began to glow, forming a circle slowly rotating around Silas. Something beneath the slaughterhouse answered their call. A heavy vibration rippled through the floor. The chains on both of Silas's shoulders shook, and the blood beneath his feet began to move against gravity, forming red droplets suspended in the air. The cult leader smiled broadly. "Behold! Even his body has recognized our lord!" Silas opened his eyes. "You are not summoning the one inside me." The cult leader's smile vanished. "What?" Silas lifted his face. Blood streamed past his chin, but his gaze had now transformed. There was a red light beginning to ignite behind both of his eyes. "You are not awakening something within me." The iron chains suddenly tightened. "You are giving it a reason to wake up." Instantly, the chanting cut off. A pulse of energy exploded from Silas's chest. BOOM! A wave of black energy swept across the entire room. The walls shook, the candles went out, and stone fragments rained down from the ceiling. The cult members were hurled in all directions before they could escape. Purple lightning flashed amid the swirling darkness. The chains holding Silas shattered into thousands of fragments. The iron hooks on both of his shoulders were ripped out, spraying blood into the air before crashing down onto the floor. His body broke free from the bonds. Yet, he did not fall to his knees. Silas landed upright on both feet in the middle of the pool of blood. Aether mist swirled around him, forming shadows resembling long hands with clawed fingers. He took a breath. The pain vanished. The wounds on both of his shoulders began to close. The torn flesh fused back together, while his bones shifted and returned to their original positions with a horrifying grinding sound. Glowing black lines appeared beneath his skin, creeping from his chest toward his neck and both arms. Silas looked down, gazing at his own hands. "What have I done?" No answer came. Instead, another voice echoed inside his head. You did not do this. I did. Silas froze. Before he could process those words, a cultist rose from the floor wielding a spiked wooden staff. "Monster!" The man attacked with all his might. Silas did not even turn his head. The staff struck his arm, but his skin suffered not the slightest injury. The wood instead cracked, then snapped into two pieces. The cultist stared at his weapon in horror. "Impossible..." Silas turned around slowly. "You should have stayed down." A single strike hit the man's chest. His body was flung against the wall and dropped without moving. Two other cultists tried to escape through the side door. Silas moved before they reached the threshold. His shadow vanished from its spot, then materialized behind them. One person crashed down after being slammed into the floor. The other swung a dagger, but Silas caught his wrist and twisted it until the weapon dropped. "Tell me who your leader is," Silas stated. The man trembled. "I do not know! We only followed orders!" "Orders from whom?" "From someone wearing a blindfolded eye emblem!" Silas fell silent for a moment. That emblem felt familiar, though he could not recall where he had seen it. The man exploited his hesitation to grab a small knife from beneath his cloak. "Die, Inquisitor!" Silas stared at him devoid of emotion. A wave of black energy enveloped the cultist's body. The knife dropped from his hand, and the man was hurled into the corner of the room. Silas looked at both of his palms. He had never controlled power like this before. Or perhaps, he had, but his memories were deliberately buried deep within his mind. "Stop!" the cult leader shouted. "You do not understand what is happening!" Silas turned his head. The cult leader stood near the stone altar with a pale face. His robe fluttered despite the absence of wind. Both of his hands shook as he tried to activate the remaining ritual symbols. "That entity will take over your body!" he cried out. "You will lose yourself!" Silas stepped closer. "In that case, you had better give me a reason to stay myself." The cult leader backed away. "You do not understand! We did not choose you by coincidence. Your blood has been marked since your birth!" Those words halted Silas's steps. "Who marked my blood?" The man swallowed hard. "He who dwells behind the gate. He who has watched this city since before Aethelgard was built." Silas felt a heavy pressure emerge inside his head. A faint image flashed across his mind. A black tower. A blood-red sky. And a pair of giant eyes opening behind the clouds. That vision vanished before he could comprehend it. "What is behind the gate?" he asked. The cult leader gave a nervous laugh. "Not something you can kill." Silas raised his hand. Black energy swirled between his fingers. "I did not ask if I could kill it." The cult leader tried to run. Before he reached the door, however, his body lifted off the floor. Unseen energy gripped his neck and slammed him into a stone pillar. Silas approached, then grabbed the front of his robe. "Who ordered you to capture me?" The man coughed, struggling for breath. "The executioner... ask our executioner... he is the one who carried the master's message." Silas glanced toward the exit. The black-robed executioner standing there from the very beginning still had not moved. He merely watched the slaughter calmly, as though the death of all his comrades meant nothing at all. Silas released the cult leader. The man's body dropped to the floor. When Silas turned his gaze back to him, he was no longer moving. One by one, the surviving cultists stopped breathing. No further meaningful resistance remained. Black energy continued to creep along the walls, while the ritual symbols on the floor flickered out like embers running out of air. In a short time, the slaughterhouse turned into a graveyard. Only the black-robed executioner remained near the door. Silas walked toward him with slow steps. "You do not seem surprised to see them die." The executioner lowered his head. "No one dies before their time, Inquisitor." "An interesting answer. Now, tell me who your master is." "He is not someone you can comprehend." Silas stopped right before him. "Then help me understand." The executioner lifted his face. Behind his hood, Silas saw two pale, pupil-less eyes. "It is too late." A faint smile appeared on the executioner's lips. "Our master has looked into your eyes." Silas felt a chill crawl down his spine. "What do you mean?" The executioner opened his mouth to answer. Before a single word came out, however, a black line appeared across his neck. His head was severed in an instant. His body collapsed to the floor, and blood spurted onto the stones already filled with red puddles. Silas stepped back half a pace. He had not swung a weapon. He had not even touched the man. Something had killed the executioner from a distance. Or something had decided that the man must speak no more. Silas stared at the corpse for a few seconds before kneeling to inspect his cloak. Inside a hidden pocket, he found an iron emblem shaped like a blindfolded eye. Its surface was adorned with small carvings resembling intertwined roots. The object felt extremely cold to the touch, as though freshly lifted from the bottom of a frozen lake. Silas kept it inside his coat. Then he stood up and gazed around the entire room. Too many questions remained unanswered. Who had marked his blood? Why did the Bleeding Hollow cult need him to perform the ritual? And what entity now resided within his soul? From outside the building, the sound of the night wind began to stir. The smell of rain seeped through the cracks in the walls, blending with the thick fog characteristic of Aethelgard. Silas had to leave before the city guards discovered the place. He had just taken a step toward the door when that voice echoed once more. Now you are starting to understand, aren't you? Silas stopped. His hand moved toward the dagger hilt at his waist. "Who are you?" The wrong question. "If you dwell inside my body, I have the right to know who you are." The voice gave a soft laugh. Your body? You truly believe this body belongs to you? Silas clenched his fists. The black lines on his arm glowed, stretching his shadow across the floor. "I will not let you take over." If I wanted it, you would have been gone long ago. Silas fell silent. Before him, the pool of blood suddenly shuddered. Its surface formed a small circle, then reflected something that had no business being inside that slaughterhouse. A pair of giant red eyes stared at him from behind the darkness. Silas spun around quickly, but no one was behind him. When he looked back at the puddle, the reflection had vanished. Only the mysterious voice remained inside his head. Take that emblem to the Seventh Tower, Inquisitor. Silas touched his coat pocket, where the iron emblem was kept. "Why should I do that?" The answer came in a whisper that froze his entire body. Because if you do not arrive there before the third bell rings, all the people of Aethelgard will die. Silas stared at the door opening into the foggy night. Deep within the city, a bell tolled once. Then the second toll sounded, even though the hour hand on the city tower should not have moved that far yet. Silas drew his dagger and stepped out of the slaughterhouse. Before he could vanish into the fog, however, another voice echoed from behind the door, this time not inside his mind, but from someone standing right behind him. "Inquisitor Silas, do not go to the Seventh Tower. Because the one waiting for you there is yourself!"