’Fuse them without the hide!’
Out of the hundred and twenty Vi killed, eighty were salvaged. Coupled with the hundred and forty he and the Guardsmen had slain in the deeper woods, there were now a total of two hundred and twenty bat corpses, their leathery wings limp on the massive heap.
Two hundred of them were used, fused with the hundred levitating soldiers without their thick black skins and as the process began, bright blue flames engulfed each pair, swirling upward like tongues of mystic fire. The glow of the flames was reflected in the eyes of the town folks, who had gathered silently, their faces lit with both fear and wonder, their eyes wide with anticipation of what would emerge.
One by one, the hundred levitating figures descended to the ground, their bodies slowly lowering as the flames began to die out. When the last wisp vanished, what stood in their place caused the townspeople to gasp aloud, one hundred new beings stood where ordinary men and women once floated.
Black wings unfurled from their backs, stretching wide with a rustle like silk in the wind. Their eyes now glowed crimson, and their skin had turned pale in an attractive way. Fangs peeked from their lips and claws extended from their hands, curved and deadly. Their physiques had bulked up, not heavily, as the Dreadclaws had, but sleekly, like predators born for speed and deadly precision.
Power hummed in the taut cords of muscle beneath their tunics. It was not the raw, brutal strength of juggernauts, but the coiled strength of hunters, quick, agile, and precise.
Yet, it would be a mistake to call them weak; their strength, while not overwhelming like the Dreadclaws’, was still formidable.
[You have successfully created a hundred Lowblood Bloodkin. A race with thirst for blood, great vision at night, flight ability and hollow bones which makes them lighter than they appear. Can heal once blood is consumed.]
Gasps rippled through the gathered crowd like a breeze through tall grass. Even the Bloodkins themselves looked stunned as they glanced down at their hands and bodies, as if unsure whether they still belonged to them. They had become something entirely different. Something more.
A few of the older ones staggered, overcome by the sudden vitality in their veins. Men who had been in their fifties or late forties now looked younger, stronger, with clearer eyes and tauter skin.
Those in their thirties had changed less dramatically, but their bodies seemed more defined, honed like forged blades.
The essence of the beast, the predatory nature and adaptive instinct of the bats, had been transferred into them. Their bodies were reborn into machines designed for combat, capable of flight, vision in the dark, speed, and regeneration through blood.
All they needed now was training to hone what now lay latent within them.
Kaelor turned toward the black-haired man standing tall beside him, a leather-bound book in one hand, and a quill poised over its open pages, ever ready to record.
"Who do you recommend to command these recruits?"
"I feel Mr. Soren should be acceptable," Damien said, bowing his head slightly. "He was a mercenary from the Duchy of Luciana. He’s skilled in the longbow, and I find it only fitting that warriors with wings should learn the art of the bow. It complements their nature."
Kaelor’s gaze followed Damien’s nod and settled on a man near the front line, one with a long scar running diagonally across the bridge of his nose.
"Yes, My Lord. He is thirty-four years old, a mid-level Adept ranked bowman. He’s capable of shooting through steel and also efficient with an arming sword and a dagger. He trained under the infamous Crowface during the Lucian campaigns."
"Well," Kaelor said, leaning forward slightly as if weighing something invisible. "He was once a mercenary. I expect no less." He lifted his voice. "Step forward, Soren."
Soren took a deep breath, then strode forward with discipline etched into each movement. He stopped two steps away from Kaelor and stood at attention.
"I hear you’re good with the longbow," Kaelor said, his tone even but edged with expectation. "Can you teach these men how to shoot and wield the arming sword? With their new bodies, how long will it take them to reach the Novice rank?"
Soren lowered his head in a respectful bow, then raised it again, eyes calm and steady.
"They can reach the Novice rank in a month, My Lord."
Kaelor smiled faintly. "Good," he said, his voice low and firm. "You shall lead this company. But first..."
"System, fuse one Giant Bat with Soren."
As the fusion began, Kaelor swung his sword over his shoulder, eyes narrowing as embers coiled around Soren’s form. He remembered how it had taken three direwolves to evolve a Dreadclaw into an Alpha Dreadclaw, this should push Soren past the boundaries of Lowblood.
Flames erupted in a silent bloom around the beastman. Soren let out a soft grunt, wings flaring wide as the power coursed through him. The ground cracked beneath his feet. Then the fire collapsed inward with a whoosh, vanishing.
In its place stood a transformed Soren.
His muscles rippled beneath. His fangs had lengthened, protruding slightly even when his mouth was closed, and his claws gleamed with a faint silvery hue. His presence alone stirred tension in the air.
But it was his wings that had changed most, now larger and heavier, the upper edges where bone once was had hardened into ridged, blackened scale, razor-sharp. They weren’t just for flight anymore. They were weapons. Ebony Wings.
A swirl of black mist bled from his pores, coiling around his form like a living shadow. It thickened near his limbs, then vanished the moment he folded his wings behind him.
Then, Soren dropped to one knee, head bowed low.
"I shall serve as your arrow, My Lord."
[You have successfully created a Pureblood Bloodkin!]
Kaelor nodded, his expression calm but eyes gleaming with purpose. He tilted his head slightly toward the heap of bat skins, thick, leathery hides. He had deliberately left them behind, not out of neglect, but for the Leather Armourers to craft something worthy of war.
Nearby, the nineteen bat corpses lay in a separate pile, lifeless, wings splayed like broken sails. Atop them all was the largest, the gray bat, its massive frame still imposing in death, its eyes glassy and vacant.
Kaelor’s gaze lingered on it.
First, he would make Mildred a Pureblood, elevate her to stand closer to him in might and stature. She had earned it. After that...
A slow grin formed on his lips.
He would fuse the rest, including the gray beast, with himself.
And become something far beyond what he was now.