Chapter 3 – The Blood of the Divine
For a moment, the world was silent — too silent.
Tommy's breath hitched as the light around him began to twist and coil, forming patterns in the air like ribbons of living flame. It was neither warm nor cold — simply *alive*. The broken sword hilt hovered before him, trembling as though something ancient stirred inside it.
He could feel his heart pounding against his ribs, each beat syncing with the rhythm of that glowing pulse.
Thump… thump… thump…
Then the air itself shivered.
A sharp crack of sound tore through the stillness — as if space itself split open. A wind surged outward from the hilt, throwing dust and fragments of stone into the air. Tommy raised an arm to shield his face. The courtyard filled with light — blinding, white, and pure.
The pressure made it hard to breathe. It pressed down on him like a storm of divine weight.
He fell to one knee.
And then — the light began to take shape.
Two burning eyes emerged first, glowing with gold fire. A serpentine neck coiled from mist, followed by wings that shimmered like molten glass. The creature was both ethereal and real, its body a fusion of flame and energy — part dragon, part phoenix.
Tommy's eyes widened, unable to comprehend the sight before him. The creature's wings unfurled, stretching across the courtyard, yet its form remained half-transparent, as if it existed between worlds.
Its voice came not through sound, but through vibration — a low hum that resonated deep inside his bones.
It watched him.
He wanted to speak, but his mouth had gone dry. His body trembled, his instincts screaming to kneel, to bow, to submit. This was no mere spirit. This was something higher.
"Who… who are you?" His voice was barely audible.
The creature tilted its head, ancient fire swirling within its translucent frame. When it finally spoke, the sound was not one voice but many — layered, echoing across the courtyard like the memory of a thousand storms.
"Successor… found."
The words struck like thunder.
Tommy froze. His heart raced faster, his hands shaking. "Successor? What do you mean? I'm nobody!"
The creature's eyes glowed brighter. Its wings flared, sending ripples of light across the broken stones. Every breath Tommy took felt heavier under its gaze — as if it could see through his very soul.
He staggered back a step. "I—I failed the ceremony. I don't even have a proper core! You've got the wrong person!"
A faint rumble echoed — not of anger, but amusement.
"The weak pulse… is not weakness. It is emptiness — a vessel untainted. A beginning unbound."
Tommy blinked, stunned. His Weak Pulse — the mark of failure — wasn't a curse?
The creature continued, its form pulsing with faint blue fire.
"Nine realms ascend toward the divine. But few remember the first step — the emptiness that holds creation itself."
He didn't understand. Not yet. But something inside him stirred — a flicker of instinct, of destiny.
The beast lowered its head until its snout hovered inches above his face. Its golden eyes burned with intelligence far beyond mortal comprehension.
"The blood… of the divine… chooses only those who defy fate."
Tommy swallowed hard. "Blood of the… divine?"
He looked down at his bleeding palm — the one that had gripped the sword, the one that still bore the faint mark of the hilt's splinters. His blood shimmered faintly under the moonlight, almost… silver.
The creature's gaze followed.
"Your blood called to me."
Tommy's pulse quickened. "I didn't call anything—"
"You did. When the will refuses to yield, when despair turns to defiance… the divine listens."
The wind swirled again. The air crackled with unseen energy. The beast's wings folded back as it straightened, its body rising, stretching toward the heavens.
Its roar tore through the night — a sound that made the ground tremble, a mix of dragon's fury and phoenix's song. The power shook the courtyard walls, sent ripples through the moonlit sky.
Tommy dropped to one knee, clutching his head. The sound wasn't just in his ears — it was inside him, echoing through his very soul.
When the roar subsided, the world seemed smaller, quieter, almost afraid.
The creature's voice came again — softer now, yet carrying infinite weight.
"You… are the last fragment of the forgotten lineage. My power slumbers in your blood. Awaken it… or be consumed."
Tommy looked up, breath ragged. "Why me?"
"Because you broke before you bent. Because you bled before you begged."
For a moment, the words hung in the air like sacred scripture.
Tommy's fingers tightened around the sword hilt, still faintly glowing. "What… do you want from me?"
The beast's golden eyes narrowed.
"To live. To rise. To burn the heavens that mocked you."
He shivered. The creature's tone was not gentle — it was absolute, a command written into the fabric of existence.
"But remember, child of dust… power demands price."
As the final word echoed, the creature's wings spread wide. The courtyard filled once again with blinding light, swirling and coalescing toward Tommy's chest.
He tried to move — to run, to shout, to breathe — but he couldn't. His limbs refused to obey.
"Wait—what are you doing?!"
"Accept… or perish."
The creature's body began to dissolve into light — feather by feather, scale by scale, until all that remained was a vast storm of divine essence spiraling toward him.
Tommy raised his arms instinctively, but the energy hit him like a tidal wave.
White fire exploded across the courtyard.
The ground cracked beneath him. The stones glowed red-hot. The broken hilt in his hand burst into flame, reshaping into pure light.
"Stop! I can't—!"
But the voice inside him overrode his scream.
"You can. You must."
The light struck his chest, and for a heartbeat, the world vanished.
His body convulsed. His vision blurred. Every nerve screamed in agony. It felt as though molten steel coursed through his veins — burning, reshaping, rewriting his very existence.
The Aether within him — that fragile Weak Pulse — erupted. It roared like a beast finally freed from its cage.
He saw flashes — images that weren't his own. A mountain of fire. A sky filled with divine beasts locked in war. A sword that split the heavens.
Then darkness.
Tommy collapsed, smoke rising from his skin, eyes rolling back.
His hand still clutched the broken hilt, now glowing faintly with white flame. His blood had stopped flowing — replaced by something luminous, shimmering under the moonlight.
The courtyard was silent again. The divine wind stilled. The stars dimmed as if bowing before something greater.
And in the silence, a faint whisper drifted through the air — the voice of the fading beast.
"Rise, successor… bearer of the Blood of the Divine."
The last spark of light sank into his chest.
Tommy's body went still. His breathing slowed. His heartbeat — once faint and uncertain — now thundered with unnatural rhythm.
Thump… thump… thump…
Each beat echoed like the strike of a war drum.
The mark of the divine glowed briefly at the center of his chest — a symbol that looked like twin wings crossed by a dragon's fang — before fading beneath his skin.
Then, silence.
Tommy's body fell forward, unconscious, the faint glow of power lingering around him.
The broken hilt lay beside him — no longer wooden, but metallic, smooth, and gleaming faintly with an inner fire.
A new dawn waited, hidden beneath the dark sky.
But for now, the boy slept — his fate sealed by light and blood.
---
The courtyard was empty again, save for the faint white embers dancing around his motionless form.
As the night wind carried them away, one ember sank into the broken hilt — and a voice, soft as a heartbeat, whispered from the void:
"Awaken soon… my successor."
The ember pulsed once more — then went still.
And Tommy Oliver lay unconscious, his destiny rewritten in divine fire.