No Blessed ✓

Pursuit

The King was silent as his valets undressed him carefully, taking care not to apply pressure on his wounds.

The markings that appeared frequently now were not wounds per se but rather abominable welts that showed that he had been forsaken by the gods.

All No Blessed who had formerly belonged to a Church grew them sooner or later, if they were not killed by the warriors of the various churches at the initial stage of their desertion.

This was why Churches did not tolerate deserters. Eventually the welts would overtake their reasoning and they would become monsters based on how powerful they were at the time they forsook their Church and what faction they came from.

After the valets undressed him, The King sent them away, preferring to bathe himself. He was the only one who had a tent among all the men there, the rest managed the soil and grass.

Looking at himself in the half mirror, the King grimaced. The welts had grown even bigger and looked even more revolting than they had before.

To his horror, two large welts had started to encroach on his face, circling his left eye and he touched one of them gingerly, wincing. It hurt just as much as the rest that had wormed their way all over his body.

Gritting his teeth, he glared at his reflection. It would not be long before he was as senseless and primal as the monsters he used for his sacrifices. He needed to get to the Life Gate before the transformation stripped him of the ability to reason but there was still the issue of Tyrese.

The King was sure the obstinate ex-Knight would be waiting for him at the Gate or waylay him on the way there and he could not afford to have any one delay him. His scepter’s glow had been become dimmer with each day that passed and he knew that his time as The Pure One was almost over.

However, the King had made up his mind. If he would not rule as the King of the Blessed, then he would rule as the strongest No Blessed there ever was. As the Blood King.

He moved away from the mirror and went to his makeshift bed, picking up his royal cloak. It symbolized his position as the Pure One, worn by hundreds of his predecessors. He never went anywhere without it.

Inside the cloak was a hidden pocket the King tore open easily beneath his fingers. He had not had need for the contents of the pocket for over two decades so the thread that kept it hidden had worn over time and came apart easily when he pulled.

What fell out was a tiny gold statue in the form of an eagle about to take flight. He ran his fingers over it fondly, feeling its potent power even through the confines of the gold. He smiled. After all these years, it was time for a debt to be repaid.

He pressed his thumb against the eagle, infusing power into his hand and the gold began to melt. From within the statue came a thick amorphous fog of blue smoke that floated in the air until a large blue eagle roughly the size of a dwarf was formed.

It looked like at the King with beady, unnatural eyes and an eerie, diabolic voice filled the room.

“After so many years, the Pure One has need for me again. How many more times will I be called upon before you release me?” the Demon snickered, the feeling of malice tangible in the air.

It crooked its head, looking at him properly before releasing a cackle that sounded like a thousand people in anguish. “I wonder what you have dabbled in that you are so close to becoming the Blood King, Pure One.”

The King glared at it though the force of his glare did nothing to diminish the Demon’s mirth.

“You want to be released?”