The Blood of Vampire: Chapter 4 - The Agony of the First Embrace
The two-day trek from Veldara's Crossing toward the mythical Weeping Falls was less a journey and more a sustained siege against the rapidly deteriorating structure of Jatex's self-control. The terrifying reality of the Sanguine Stain was now absolute: it was a constantly accelerating spiritual vacuum, consuming the remnants of his Vaelanar life force and replacing it with an agonizing, metallic Thirst that grew sharper, colder, and more physically debilitating with every passing hour. He was no longer battling a magical side-effect; he was locked in a profound, internal war against a parasitic hunger that threatened to tear his consciousness apart. The few, scattered human settlements he bypassed were no longer merely obstacles; they were shimmering, concentrated nodes of the vibrant life essence the Stain craved, forcing Jatex to maintain an iron grip on his fading Vaelanar discipline, a feat that cost him strength he no longer possessed.
He moved only under the thick cover of pre-dawn darkness, utilizing the last functional vestiges of his Spiritual Camouflage to keep his unnaturally pale complexion and haunted amber eyes from attracting attention from Aerthos patrols, whose religious fanaticism was only matched by their brutality. The Obsidian Amulet was constantly gripped in his left hand, its cold surface a necessary distraction from the cold emptiness in his core, a constant, tangible reminder of Aeliana's desperate hope. The very ground he walked on seemed to vibrate with the collective spiritual noise of the hostile human kingdom—the rhythmic pulses of fear, joy, and mundane existence—and each vibration was a cruel, potent temptation to the Thirst. He understood now why the ancient Blood Lords were predators; their power was a curse designed to enforce consumption, a cosmic joke on beings meant to draw their energy from the land.
His search was narrowed by the cryptic clues. The Weeping Falls, known locally for the striking, reddish hue of its iron-rich water—a grim color often associated with the 'blood of the earth'—served as his primary geographic target. The spiritual dimension, "beneath the sightless, watchful gaze of the Dragon of Ash," became his focus during the sleepless, tortured nights. Jatex, recalling the forbidden celestial maps held in the Vaelanar archives, realized the Dragon of Ash constellation—a massive, ancient Syldavian marker—would only fully align with the fall line of the Weeping Falls during a specific, dark phase of the moon, suggesting the Blackened Hearth was not merely a physical ruin, but a location keyed to a celestial schedule.
Finally, just as the sun began to paint the eastern horizon with cold, grey light, Jatex reached the falls.
The Weeping Falls were not a majestic cascade, but a relentless, slow bleeding of mineral-rich water down a towering, rust-colored cliff face, the water pooling at the base into a shallow, perpetually churning basin.
Tucked into the valley floor near the basin, hidden by an unnaturally dense ring of thorn-laced black pines, were the crumbling, colossal remains of the Old Citadel of Syldavia. This was not Vaelanar architecture; it was older, built not for defense, but for permanence, with cyclopean, dark grey stones fused together by an unknown, black magic.
As he approached the ruins, Jatex used the key word given by the Crypt-Scholar, whispering the ancient Blood Lord tongue: "Sartus." The word, meaning Consumption or The Great Need, was immediately followed by a spiritual shockwave. The air shimmered, and the dense ring of black pines, which he had assumed was the natural border of the valley, dissolved, revealing a vast, spiraling staircase leading down into the heart of the ruins. It was a spiritual lock, only keyed to those who carried the Stain and knew the forbidden language of its hunger.
Descending into the chill, profound darkness of the Citadel was an act of complete surrender. At the base of the winding stairs, lit by a cluster of unnaturally bright, faintly humming violet crystals, stood Lord Zydian. He was impossibly old, a figure seemingly woven from shadow and dry leather, yet imbued with an intense, disciplined spiritual power that dwarfed anything Jatex had ever encountered, even from Elder Lyra. Zydian was dressed in robes of ancient, unidentifiable black silk, and his eyes—old, profound, and utterly non-judgmental—were the color of polished jade, fixed with frightening clarity upon the source of the Sanguine Stain within Jatex.
"Welcome, Acolyte Jatex, betrayer of the Veil, heir to the Source Blood," Zydian's voice was a dry, rasping whisper, yet it filled the vast cavern. He extended a hand, pointing a long, skeletal finger at the Obsidian Amulet still clutched in Jatex's hand. "Your great-grandmother's trinket. It is a focus, a spiritual choke-chain. It delayed the inevitable, but it did not teach you control. You reek of the High Places, but beneath the juniper and granite, you are spiritually starving, boy.
The Thirst is a terrifying thing, is it not?"
Jatex stumbled forward, the agony of the Thirst making his voice weak. "You… you know the Stain.
You know the First Embrace." The words were a plea, not a challenge. He was at the end of his discipline.
Zydian chuckled, a dry, brittle sound that echoed off the stone. "I know the Stain because I am the Stain, Jatex. I am the last living testament of the First Embrace, one of the few who chose to master the power before the Vaelanar decided that their weakness was a virtue. The Vaelanar created the Shadow-Weave not just to defend, but to starve this power. The Thirst you feel is not a weakness; it is a spiritual mechanism designed to force your evolution.
It is not satisfied by a goat or a fleeting human life. It demands a bond."
"Then teach me the bond!" Jatex demanded, dropping to one knee, the desperation overcoming pride. "I cannot endure this hunger. It will force me to destroy what I swore to protect."
Zydian regarded him with an ancient, cold amusement. "The bond is the Embrace, Acolyte. It requires a singular, willing act of profound spiritual consumption. You cannot learn to control the hunger while it still consumes you. You must reverse the dynamic. You must feed the Stain, but you must feed it in a controlled, ceremonial, and absolute way—drawing not just the essence of a victim, but the essence of a magical creature whose vitality can sustain and fuse your fractured spirit." Zydian gestured toward a large, silver cage near the back wall, which contained a magnificent, terrified creature: a Shadow-Lynx, a rare, spiritual animal whose life force was pure, concentrated Aethyr, incapable of being absorbed by a normal Weaver.
"This creature possesses the purity of the Aethyr, mixed with the wildness of true nature," Zydian stated calmly. "It is the perfect spiritual vessel. You must perform the First Embrace now. Take the amulet, focus the Stain, and will the essence from this creature. If you are successful, the Stain will be tamed, transforming from a parasitic vacuum into the Shadow-Blood Weave—a hybrid magic of defense and pure offensive predation. You will control the Thirst, and you will become the strength Syldavia needs. If you fail…" Zydian paused, his jade eyes cold and final. "You will consume the beast, and then you will turn and consume me, and then you will walk into the human world as the destructive, mindless predator your Clan fears. You have one chance."
Jatex approached the cage, his body trembling violently, the Thirst now a screaming beast in his mind.
He looked at the terrified Shadow-Lynx, its large, luminous eyes holding the pure innocence of the wilderness. He closed his own eyes, pulling the Obsidian Amulet—Aeliana's last hope—against his forehead. He plunged his mind deep into the Stain, embracing the cold, metallic terror of the hunger, refusing to fight it. Sartus. Consumption. Absolute Need. He willed the Stain to rise, not as a panicked siphon, but as a deliberate, controlled conduit.
The surge of energy that erupted was catastrophic, filling the cavern with a powerful, crimson-and-indigo fusion. The Sanguine Stain had collided with the remnants of his Vaelanar training, twisting and combining the two opposing magics. A crimson thread of the Blood-Echo shot out from Jatex's palm, not brutally, but with disciplined intent, piercing the spiritual veil of the Shadow-Lynx. The creature let out a high-pitched, agonizing cry, and its essence began to flow, not as a gentle mist, but as a thick, hot current of pure, concentrated life force. Jatex felt the essence rush into his own void, and the agony of the Thirst was replaced by a moment of sublime, profound satisfaction, a warmth that spread through his body, driving out the cold and fusing his fragmented spiritual core back together.
It was the most terrifying, most invigorating moment of his life. The consumption was absolute, and when it finished, the Shadow-Lynx slumped lifelessly in its cage. Jatex opened his eyes. He felt no guilt, only an overwhelming, cold sense of completion. The Sanguine Stain was not gone; it was integrated. The terror of the vacuum was replaced by a disciplined, ever-present awareness of the power he now controlled. His physical weakness was gone, replaced by a subtle, lethal grace. His eyes, fixed on Zydian, were no longer silver or amber, but a terrifying, controlled crimson, the mark of the true Blood Lord.
He had successfully undergone the First Embrace.
"You have done well, Blood-Weaver," Zydian whispered, acknowledging the successful fusion of the two opposing powers. He approached Jatex, his jade eyes now reflecting a dangerous pride. "The Thirst is now under your spiritual will, a perpetual need, yes, but a controlled flame. You are no longer
Jatex, Acolyte of the Veil. You are the genesis of a new path—a true hybrid. Your training begins now.
We must forge the Shadow-Blood Weave into a weapon worthy of facing the armies of Aerthos and finding the true, hidden Blackened Hearth. The true work, Acolyte, has just begun."