I sit cross-legged on the training ground floor, the cool breeze from the open courtyard brushing against my face. My eyes shut, I start sorting through the avalanche of information dumped into my brain last night—courtesy of the oversized feline horror now living rent-free in my subconscious. Yay, puberty just got way more complicated.
The knowledge flows in like a broken dam. It's not in words or books or even thoughts—it's just... there. Like I always knew it. Muscle memory, instincts, raw comprehension hardwired into every nerve ending. My powers. My glorious, bloody superpowers.
First on the list? [Blood Armour].
I whisper the name in my mind, and it responds like an old friend. My skin tingles, muscles tighten, and with a sickening squelch, it begins. Crimson liquid oozes from my pores—not dripping, not flowing, but forming—wrapping around me like a second skin. It's not metal. It's not even really armour in the traditional sense. No bulky plates or clunky joints. Just a perfect, seamless layer of blood-hardened flesh, fitting me like a tailor-made glove.
It's beautiful in the way a predator is beautiful—streamlined, functional, and terrifying. The sheen on it is like polished ruby, and when I flex, it flexes with me. No resistance, no weight. Like wearing nothing at all, except every inch of me feels reinforced. I knock my knuckles together. The sound is sharp, heavier than steel. According to the info dump, it's three times harder than steel. Not that I plan on headbutting swords any time soon, but it's good to know.
Second ability: [Bloodborne Might].
Ah yes, the crowd favorite. Basically, the more blood around me—mine or someone else's—the stronger I get. Like some twisted gym membership powered by carnage. Moral qualms aside, that's going to come in handy when things get messy. And they always do.
Third? [Red Elixir]. The description is straight to the point: drink human blood, heal anything. Broken bones? Gone. Deep stab wounds? Please. Organ failure? Laughable. Of course, the only real limitation is how much blood I can chug before I start wondering if I need therapy. Spoiler: I already do.
Fourth and final: [Overburn State]. Sounds cool, right? That's because it is. I can literally boil the blood in my veins to temporarily triple my strength. The catch? It only lasts a minute before I risk turning myself into a well-done steak. Trade-offs. Always trade-offs.
I exhale and open my eyes. Sunlight filters through the training ground walls, and for once, the place feels like mine. Not Julius'. Not Father's. Mine.
Time to get to work.
---
The next few weeks pass in a blur of sweat, bruises, and muscle cramps. My body is changing faster than I can keep up with. Every day, I wake up stronger. Faster. More precise.
I run laps around the entire estate until the maids start betting how many tiles I'll break on my next corner turn. The walls of the training ground bear the brunt of my kicks and punches. First, hairline cracks. Then small craters. Eventually, one poor section collapses entirely. Whoops.
I test [Blood Armour] over and over, activating and deactivating it until the motion becomes second nature. I try shaping it differently—gauntlets, greaves, even just covering my fists like gloves. It responds to my intent like clay to a sculptor. Beautiful, terrifying clay.
[Bloodborne Might] is trickier. Without actual blood around, it's like trying to test a racecar on a treadmill. But I simulate it using stored pig's blood from the kitchen. Yeah, the staff looked at me weird. I told them it was for a "school experiment." Technically not a lie.
[Red Elixir] I haven't used yet. And I'm not planning to unless I lose an arm or something. There are limits to my desperation.
[Overburn State] though... now that's an adrenaline rush. The first time I tried it, I nearly blacked out from the heat surge. Felt like my veins were pumping molten lava. But when I punched a reinforced dummy and sent it flying through two walls? Worth it. The one-minute limit is brutal, though. After that, I collapse like an overcooked noodle and sleep for hours.
Somewhere along the line, I also tried to incorporate a few martial arts moves. I remembered some Taekwondo from a documentary, a few boxing jabs from a street fight I watched, and some Muay Thai knees because, well, they looked cool.
The result? Absolute disaster.
I ended up tripping over my own leg, falling flat on my back, and spraining my ego. Still, I laughed so hard I nearly choked. Combat elegance: 0. Unintended self-harm: 1.
On the bright side, I've got time. And an unreasonably high healing factor.
As I stare at myself in the training hall mirror, I barely recognize the boy looking back. My face has sharp angles now—cheekbones more defined, jaw tighter. My eyes, once dull gray, now gleam with something darker, deeper. My skin is pale, not sickly but like marble left in the moonlight too long. My hair's longer too, curling slightly at the ends. Elegant, in a mildly unsettling way.
I look... dangerous.
And I like it.
But I'm not done. Not yet.
With a deep breath, I sit again in the center of the courtyard. My heartbeat is steady, but anticipation thrums beneath it. I stretch out my hand, and this time, I don't focus on strength, speed, or defense.
I focus on blood.
"Let's see what else you can do."