The dragon mulled it over. Since leaving its parents' nest, life had been hard. Its damp, smelly cave and diet of tasteless magical beast meat left much to be desired. It longed for the roasted venison its mother used to prepare.
[Deer. I want deer too, roasted.]
Michael nodded eagerly. Compared to the benefits of becoming a dragon knight, the cost was negligible.
"Then please extend your foreleg. It will sting for a moment, but it'll be over quickly."
Hesitant, the dragon finally held out its foreleg.
Michael drew a knife, making a small cut on the dragon's foreleg and his own finger, mingling their blood.
As he did, Miaomiao chanted an incantation:
Haec pactio sub praesentia divinae creaturae conficitur!
[Thus, the contract between Marcus of the dragonkin and Michael von Crassus is complete.]
As Miaomiao's words ended, Michael felt something sear itself onto his soul.
And so, the eighth dragon knight of the continent of Rubel was born.
The day had finally arrived. Alfred completed all preparations for the sealing ritual and called Michael to the site. Michael, accompanied by Miaomiao the sphinx and Marcus the dragon, made his way to an abandoned castle deep in the forest.
As darkness blanketed the area, Alfred guided Michael into the depths of the dilapidated castle. Its walls were covered in ancient bricks and dust, with remnants of old battles scattered throughout. They stopped at an ancient altar located where the castle's heart once thrived.
The altar, inscribed with arcane symbols and magical markings, had a designated space at its center to hold the core. Hope stood nearby, his expression nervous as he glanced at the preparations.
Alfred lit a series of candles around the altar, their soft glow pushing back the encroaching darkness and bathing the area in a warm, flickering light. With deliberate care, he placed the Outsider's core at the center of the altar.
The core emanated a malevolent aura, as though it were anticipating the ritual's commencement.
Michael felt an unsettling pressure rising within him, a suffocating sensation emanating from deep in his chest. Could the Outsider within him sense the impending seal? The pain was unbearable, and his eyes began to glow crimson.
Alfred took a deep breath and knelt Michael before the altar.
"It's time. This will only take a moment—endure it," Alfred said firmly.
Alfred and Hope began chanting an ancient incantation. Their voices echoed around the altar, weaving through the air and resonating with the arcane symbols. The core grew brighter and more ominous, pulsating as if alive.
Rays of light from the core wrapped around Michael, pulling at the Outsider's power hidden within him. Michael groaned in pain, his body convulsing as the extraction began.
In his mind, Penelope's voice screamed wildly, her words an incoherent, desperate stream:
[Screams of rage echoed through his mind: How dare you! How could you! This is impossible! Unthinkable! It cannot be!]
The Outsider's power was being forcibly drawn from Michael's body, and Alfred channeled the energy into the core. Penelope's resistance was fierce, but Alfred's relentless chanting and manipulation of the altar's inscriptions intensified.
["Grandfather! Please! Stop! It hurts! Save me, Grandfather!"]
Michael's voice, or rather Penelope's mimicry of it, echoed through the chamber.
Alfred hesitated briefly before renewing his efforts, moving the shadowy tendrils around the altar faster. Penelope's cries escalated into a shrill, furious scream as a crimson shadow began to coalesce around Michael, writhing chaotically before being pulled entirely into the core.
When the shadow had fully entered the core, the candles around the altar flickered violently.
With a brilliant flash, the Outsider's core shattered into countless pieces, crumbling into nothingness.
Alfred let out a heavy sigh as the shadows around him dissipated. Michael, still kneeling before the altar, trembled as he lifted his head, his eyes filled with confusion.
The abandoned castle fell silent once more. Hope, drenched in sweat, gently helped Michael to his feet.
"It's over now, Michael. The Outsider within you has been banished," Hope reassured him.
Michael nodded weakly, gratitude in his gaze as he looked at Alfred and Hope.
He called Penelope's name inwardly, but no answer came. Had he lost his powers?
"Are you wondering if your powers are gone?" Alfred asked, sensing Michael's hesitation.
Before Michael could respond, Alfred brought forth Nicholas, still bound and writhing.
Nicholas had been separated from the rest of the captured knights and priests sent to the capital. Alfred had kept him back for this moment.
"This man deserves execution, so don't feel guilty about using him to test your abilities," Alfred said coldly.
Michael's mind flashed with images of the women Nicholas had violated and murdered, and the innocent villagers turned into fanatics only to die in agony. Executing him would be an act of justice for those victims.
Nicholas thrashed against his bindings, desperate to escape. He had envisioned a future of glory and power for himself, not this humiliating end.
Alfred's greatsword flashed through the air, slicing cleanly through Nicholas's neck. His head fell to the ground in a precise, almost mercifully quick death.
For his crimes, it was far too kind.
Michael stepped forward and placed a hand on Nicholas's corpse. The knowledge of what to do came to him instinctively.
"Absorptionem eligo."
The familiar starry expanse unfolded before him. Among countless twinkling lights, one descended into his forehead.
He knew intuitively what power he had gained this time: lockpicking.
It seemed like a thief's skill, and while not particularly impressive, it was better than nothing.
"Did it work?" Alfred asked.
"The Outsider's gift, the power to resurrect the dead or absorb one of their abilities at random, still works," Michael confirmed.
"I see. And you haven't used the resurrection ability yet?" Alfred asked.
"No. I've never met anyone worthy of being resurrected," Michael admitted.
Alfred's expression turned thoughtful.
"Well, I know of someone perfect for it."
With that cryptic remark, they buried Nicholas's remains in a pauper's graveyard and began their journey home.