Origins of Blood[Has been republished]

In the dark void, Elliot awoke with a soft, measured breath. It still feels strange, he thought, absorbing the weightlessness in his body. His physical, mental, and spiritual states seemed balanced—at least within this emptiness. His form felt light, as though he could drift far into the distance with a single leap, yet something tethered him here, like invisible bonds anchoring him to this place. Suddenly, a powerful glimmer of blue light pierced the void, forcing the faint green glow to retreat. So, it's Aston this time, he mused. Hope you're ready to host a deity's presence. Elliot allowed himself a wry smile, acknowledging the irony in his own thoughts.

His hand drifted over the rough edges of a blue crystal that began to shine intensely, emitting a faint whooshing sound like an approaching wind.

…

Whooosh!

In the midst of an auction house belonging to the Reichenfell family, Aston sat beside Hank in an opulent, ornate hall. The setup resembled a grand theater, with seats descending in the front and rising towards the back. Blue curtains adorned the stage, concealing the evening's items. The hall, nearly a thousand square meters, accommodated around 400 attendees, each seated in anticipation.

Above the expansive blue curtain, the Reichenfell family crest—a lion with a majestic golden mane, backed by animal pelts—proudly caught the light. Hank leaned close, his voice low. "What's your budget? I've got everything I could spare for this month, roughly 5,000 Elis." He sighed dramatically, gazing at the back of the head of the person seated in front of him. "Guess it means no new watches for me this month…"

Aston chuckled, patting Hank's shoulder. "While you were gone, I asked my father, and he extended my budget for tonight," he whispered, covering his mouth as he added, "Up to 50,000 Elis. And if necessary, I can exceed even that."

Hank's eyes widened as though he'd just seen a ghost, his lips quivering. "Fifty… thousand… Elis…" he muttered, his voice filled with disbelief. Aston just smiled faintly.

Who is this guy? Why's he fawning over Aston so much? And this place… all that money… Elliot's thoughts whirled as he observed, curiosity piqued. Is Aston really about to buy something of serious value?

A booming voice from the stage cut through his musings. "Ladies and gentlemen! We are gathered here tonight to celebrate the annual anniversary of Reichenfell Auction House!" declared the auctioneer. "Tonight's collection is filled exclusively with rare materials and artifacts, items that can only be found here. Whether you carry two, three, or more blood affinities, or simply a lesser one, as long as your status and wealth allow it, all are welcome." He went on, "As today crosses from the Day of False Gods into the Violet Dunes at midnight, we will auction up to 100 unique items of varying distance and rarity."

And yet here he is, still rambling. Elliot smirked, rubbing his brow at the auctioneer's drawn-out preamble.

The auctioneer continued as two young men dressed in dark blue suits pushed a table covered by a cloth onto the stage. "We begin with the first item of tonight's auction," he announced, as the assistants lifted the cloth with dramatic flair, revealing a pair of sleek, jet-black boots. The crowd leaned forward, eyes intent, many raising their opera glasses, Aston and Hank among them.

"This artifact, rated Level 6, is enchanted for extended durability and strength, empowered by a mixture of orange and yellow blood essence. These boots grant the wearer increased stamina, reduced fatigue in their legs, and the ability to strike with enough force to dent Elitran steel. Sturdy, powerful, and filled with useful side effects, the bidding starts at 100 Elis!" the auctioneer declared.

"110! 120! 130! 150!" Bidders raised their signs, eager for the auction's first prize.

When will this end? Elliot inwardly sighed, watching the scene unfold. This must be the longest I've ever stayed within a body. Hours had slipped by, each artifact adding to the monotony. There were items of Levels 8 to 4—imbued with various abilities, from enhanced strength to illusions and invisibility, infused with blue to brown blood. Yet, Aston hadn't made a single bid. None of the items were even close to his budget, let alone surpassing half of it. The only expensive item, a mask that claimed to transform the wearer into a higher being with prolonged youth, failed to draw Aston's interest. Just buy something already if you're going to sit through all this…

Elliot's thoughts were interrupted by the auctioneer's booming voice again, "And now, we come to the final item and tonight's grand prize. Ladies and gentlemen, I present to you the blood of a demon—ten large vials, totaling a full 100 milliliters. Bidding begins at 100,000 Elis!"

100,000 Elis? Demon blood? Elliot's eyes, through Aston's own, widened in astonishment. The entire hall fell silent, whispers breaking out across the crowd.

"Ten vials?" "Demon blood?" "One hundred thousand Elis!?"

The auctioneer repeated, "The opening bid is 100,000 Elis!"

The silence grew heavy as participants exchanged nervous glances. Then, one hand lifted among the crowd, holding a bidding sign. "100,000 Elis," the auctioneer called, "going once… going twice… sold to the gentleman in the back row!"

All eyes turned to Aston, shock filling the air. Aston's mouth twitched, beads of sweat forming on his forehead, while Hank seemed to melt into his chair. So, he did buy something after all. Demon blood… 100,000 Elis. I'd have to work for lifetimes to come close to that kind of money. Elliot smirked beneath a mask of disbelief. Today's the day, Aston, whether you like it or not… a deity is watching over you.

The auctioneer cleared his throat, interrupting the eerie silence. "With that, our auction for the Day of Violet Dunes comes to an end. All purchased items can be retrieved in the adjacent room. Please remember to bring your numbered signs to confirm you are the rightful buyer of each item."

…

Aston and Hank moved purposefully through the grand hall, where most of the evening's guests were either mingling in sophisticated attire or gradually making their exit. The duo directed their steps toward a side room reserved for select individuals, though they were halted as they attempted to line up. The auctioneer approached them with an ingratiating smile, "Ah, Mr. Rosenmahl, I presume? I hope I'm not being too forward, but as an exclusive bidder, we would be honored to spare you the wait. Please, come with me."

Maintaining an elegant composure, Aston nodded, gesturing to Hank, who followed closely behind. Meanwhile, Elliot sneered at the auctioneer's long-windedness. How much more can he stretch his sentences? It's not as if he'll lose his head if he just speaks plainly, he thought, rubbing his temples in mild irritation.

After a quick exchange of a bank draft, Aston was handed a black suitcase, heavy with its precious contents: ten large vials of pure demon blood. The auctioneer smiled with a formal farewell, "Thank you, Mr. Rosenmahl. We hope to see you again next year."

As he departed, Hank leaned in close to Aston, whispering behind his hand, "The folks from the black market aren't far from here." Aston merely gave a slight nod, his expression unreadable. Without hesitation, he proceeded in the direction Hank indicated. Elliot, observing through his connection with Aston, frowned, wondering, What now? Isn't this blood for Aston's own purposes?

…

Elsewhere, Eriksson stood on a train platform along the ten-day route to Denklin, the capital of the Kingdom of Zentria. His piercing gaze was fixed on a nervous, slender man clutching a small suitcase and shuffling backward as though hoping to escape. The man's eyes were wide with fear as he glanced over his shoulder, his untidy brown hair falling over his face.

"Now, from the beginning," Eriksson demanded, his voice chillingly calm. "Out here, no one can protect you. What exactly did these people tell you when they handed you the orange blood?"

The man's gaze wavered as he stammered his response. "I-I don't know much… They only said that if I could smuggle this blood into Zentria and deliver it to a certain person, then they'd release my little brother." His voice quivered, and his bony shoulders trembled. "You have to understand… I'm from Denklin, but I got caught up in things, and they… They took my brother." Tears streamed down his face as he buried it in his grimy shirt sleeve, choking back sobs.

Just like me, Eriksson thought darkly. He softened slightly, though his resolve remained hard as steel. I'll help you. I'll get your brother out of harm's way and make those monsters pay, slowly.

Eriksson stepped forward, his voice quieter but resolute. "I'll help you."

…

The darkened alleyways of Denklin twisted like veins through the city. Clad in black cloaks, Aston and Hank moved with purpose, a raven-black case in tow. Only three vials of demon blood remained.

"This is it," Hank whispered, though his legs were visibly trembling. Aston gave him a steady look, but Elliot, still watching, couldn't hide his confusion. Why the black market? Isn't the black blood meant for Aston? But he sensed something darker afoot as they approached a shadowed doorway, the weight of many unseen eyes upon them. The alley felt thick with an oppressive stillness, every glance as sharp as a knife.

The door creaked open, revealing a man with inky black hair and hauntingly white eyes. His smile was kind yet unsettling, burning into Aston and Hank as he greeted them. "Ah, Hank, and a companion as well. I trust you have the blood?"

Hank's hands shook slightly as he nodded. The man with the white eyes beckoned them inside, his voice soft. "Good. Let's not waste time; I have another engagement shortly."

They entered a dimly lit room, a single oil lamp casting weak light onto a table. Aston placed the case on the table, its contents briefly catching the lamp's glow. The man with the white eyes inspected it carefully, his expression a mask of calm satisfaction. "Three vials of demon blood. I'm impressed. I didn't think you'd manage it, Hank. But it seems your friend here gave you the extra push you needed."

Aston and Hank nodded in unison, though their smiles were forced and brittle. The man's unsettling eyes glittered as he continued, "Now, let's get to the formula. It's not some mysterious ritual; it's simply a matter of compatibility. Certain types of blood blend well, while others cause… unpleasant side effects—peeling skin, madness, corruption, coagulated blood, and so forth. The maggots, well, those are merely an enzymatic reaction that occurs when incompatible blood types combine." He paused, glancing at Aston and Hank's faces, which were both a mixture of fascination and dread.

"To put it simply, the key to avoiding transformation lies in understanding which blood types harmonize with one another," he explained. "Each blood type—red, blue, green, yellow, violet, orange, brown, black, white, and gold—has its own set of rules. For instance, those with blue blood can safely consume only gold, white, violet, orange, and red blood. Green blood can only accept black, brown, yellow, and red blood. Similarly, orange blood can take in gold, white, violet, blue, and red, and so on."

Elliot listened intently through Aston's perception, piecing together the intricacies of the blood system. The man continued, "You've likely noticed the pattern. Blue, orange, violet, white, and gold are part of a harmonious group, while brown, black, yellow, and green fall into another. The red blood, however, is unique—it can consume any blood type, though there's a catch. The more red-blooded individuals consume other types, the more susceptible they become to addiction. This addiction eventually leads to corruption, though the transformation occurs far later than with any other blood type."

The black-haired man gave a parting wave, disappearing into a side room. Aston and Hank exchanged a tense look, both absorbing the wealth of information they'd just received, while Elliot, in turn, processed every word, sensing the profound implications of this knowledge.