Thalion awoke slowly, as if surfacing from the depths of a dreamless sleep. For a moment, he lay still, wrapped in warmth, calm, and something else—something deeper. Then it hit him. Power surged through his body like a storm unbound. It roared in his veins, sang in his muscles, and hummed beneath his skin like molten energy ready to burst.

He had never felt stronger. Not even during his battle with the vampiress empowered by the Heart of the Sanguine Archon had he touched this level of strength. It felt as though the Crimson Virethorn hadn’t simply healed him, but had torn him apart and rebuilt him into something new. Something greater. He was overflowing with life, with strength, with a purpose that burned like fire in his chest.

He was still lying within the blood-filled blossom of the massive flower, cocooned by its warm petals. The blood cradled him, almost reverently. The Crimson Virethorn had clearly evolved—and now, it pulsed with intelligence and sovereignty. The space around him was tranquil, almost sacred, as though the very air bowed to his presence. In the stillness, Thalion allowed himself a breath, then called up his notifications.

The first message stood like a crown upon a throne.

Sanguis Impera (Empyrian)

What began as a mere sanguine thorn, awakened by a vampire with potential, has risen beyond all expectation. Though its first master fell, the thorn survived—nurtured instead by a stronger, more ambitious host. Together they made an unspoken vow: to rise, without compromise. From that moment, the thorn did more than feed. It learned. It adapted. It grew. It evolved, not only in body but in mind. Through victory, cunning, and an unyielding will, it devoured its own kind and surpassed them. After overcoming a far more powerful Crimson Sovereign, it shed its former self and emerged as something transcendent. The Sanguis Impera is no longer simply a plant—it is a ruler of blood. A master of its essence. This evolution is exceedingly rare, never manifesting before early Grade C and never through divine aid alone. It is a path forged through conviction and honed through relentless struggle. The Sanguis Impera does not just grow—it dominates. And from this moment on, no blood cultivator shall rise above it.

Thalion smirked. The vampiress’s plant—the Crimson Sovereign—had once seemed so powerful. Now, it was little more than a stepping stone. The idea that the Sanguis Impera could manipulate blood as he did was intriguing... though he hoped they wouldn’t compete over it. That could get messy.

He opened his status screen. Level 79. The very beginning of it. He quickly allocated his free stat points into agility—better now than forgetting later. Oddly, the rest of his stats hadn’t changed much. The last time he got four hundred vitality, but now it sat still, untouched. Confusing, but ultimately unimportant. What mattered was reality—and he could feel the change. That was all he needed.

Two of his skills had changed. One, which he couldn’t recall the original name of, was now titled Will of the Sanguis Impera. It wouldn’t activate, nor did a description appear. Likely a passive ability. The other, Crimson Garden, had evolved into Jungle of the Sanguis Impera. The name alone stirred images of chaotic beauty and violent nature.

Both were now tagged as Empyrian rarity—the highest he'd seen, just a step beneath divine. Even his race had ascended to Empyrian. No wonder he felt unstoppable.

Still, the lack of skill descriptions annoyed him. He liked knowing what he was working with. Jungle was obvious enough, but Will? That could be anything. Power without knowledge was reckless. But for now, it had to wait.

Then, it struck him. The haze lifted, and the memory returned like a blade through mist.

He was still in the catacombs. The last of them. He had been about to destroy the final pillar. His friends were fighting. Dying. And he had been buried in transformation while they faced annihilation alone.

It was as if the newly evolved Sanguis Impera had responded to his thoughts. The pool of blood in which Thalion lay was absorbed back into his body, along with the flower that had birthed it. As the crimson tendrils receded, Thalion slowly rose, blinking away the daze of his transformation. But what greeted him was not awe or admiration—it was confusion.

A semi-circle of vampires stood surrounding him, their crimson eyes gleaming with hunger and curiosity. The corridor leading upwards was sealed off by a massive, pulsating red barrier that radiated arcane energy. His gaze drifted, scanning the assembled undead, until it settled on a figure whose presence chilled his blood—Ankhet. The lich-like creature stood with unsettling stillness, exuding an aura of quiet malevolence. There was something hauntingly familiar about him, though Thalion couldn’t quite place it.

To Ankhet’s right stood a pale, robed undead—likely the infamous lich Elias—and to his left, a vampire clad in jagged black armor. The armored one seemed to bristle with barely restrained greed, his gaze locked not on Thalion, but on the crimson plant still receding into Thalion’s back. It was clear what he wanted: the Sanguis Impera.

Enjoying this book? Seek out the original to ensure the author gets credit.

Thalion could sense the danger in the air like static before a storm. He had more raw power than Ankhet—he could feel it in his bones—but that didn’t matter. Power alone was not enough. Ankhet’s composure, his ancient presence, and his aura spoke of millennia of combat and mastery. Thalion had honed his skills in the golden palace, defeating many, but this... this was something else. He hadn’t even noticed Ankhet’s sinister aura until now. He’d been drunk on power. That had almost gotten him killed.

As the flower fully dissolved beneath him, Thalion sank down to the floor and studied Ankhet more closely. Then the realization hit: he had felt this type of aura before—during his encounter with the madman possessed by an Outsider, the one from whom he’d borrowed the fear pillar. Using his title, Thalion probed deeper. It took time, but he confirmed his suspicion: Ankhet had also bonded with an Outsider. But unlike Thalion, Ankhet hadn’t just borrowed power. He had dominated it, refined it, and made it serve him.

It made sense. Someone like Ankhet, born in a different era, a different cosmos, likely a million years old, would have mastered things Thalion could barely imagine. He wasn’t just wielding alien power—he had turned it into something uniquely his.

What now? Say hello? Make a witty remark? He had no idea. The vampires watched him like wolves circling prey. Especially the one in black armor—he looked positively ravenous. It didn’t take a title to realize Ankhet wanted him dead. That was written all over his expression.

Still, Thalion remained silent, returning their stares with cold focus while acclimating to the new power coursing through his body. It felt alien yet familiar—a rebirth. His limbs, his senses, even the rhythm of his heartbeat—everything had changed. But Ankhet did not allow him long to reflect.

"You’ve got some nerve, human," Ankhet said, his voice like frost cracking under pressure. "Upgrading your blood plant here, in my catacombs." His eyes bored into Thalion’s, but Thalion didn’t flinch. He saved his Gaze for the right moment.

"I was looking forward to a glorious slaughter," Ankhet continued. "But then, an explosion rocked the lower levels of my palace. Imagine my surprise when the vampires reported finding you. So—for now—I’ll let the elves and humans live. First, I’ll enjoy killing you. Then I’ll go after your friends and family."

He cackled, the sound reverberating through the chamber like rusted blades scraping over stone. It was the laughter of someone truly unhinged.

This was worse than expected. But maybe… maybe he could run. The path up was blocked, but the way down remained open. With his new strength, he might be able to outpace Ankhet. Mistform could be the key. But for now, Thalion needed time—time to learn more.

"That seems fair," he replied, adopting a casual tone. "But before we begin, would you indulge me with a few questions? I've heard so much about you, but little of it confirmed. Also, some of our people once worshipped a god named Ra—god of sun and light. Seeing you now, I doubt he was your master."

He offered a slight bow, hoping curiosity would stay Ankhet’s hand. Ankhet's eyes narrowed—but then, unexpectedly, he burst into laughter.

"Hahahaha! My master? A god of light and life? What a farce!" Ankhet’s grin twisted into something cruel. "No wonder your people worshipped him—their minds warped by lies. It was probably part of his grand experiment."

Thalion noted the bitterness but didn’t press. Instead, he switched tactics.

"Is it true you possess a divine class? A divine race?"

Ankhet wasn’t one to monologue unnecessarily, but perhaps ego would keep him talking. It seemed to work.

"Of course I do," Ankhet sneered. "Both divine class and race. If you hadn’t destroyed three of the pillars, I wouldn’t have spawned at only a fraction of my power. It’ll take years to recover. But since you helped fracture part of my soul, I’ll take great pleasure returning the favor."

With those words, his aura surged. It wasn’t just pressure—it was suffocating. A creeping, invisible force that weighed on the mind and dulled the senses. Thalion clenched his fists, steadying himself.

Okay, Sanguis Impera... time to show this monster what we’ve become.

To his surprise, a surge of reassurance pulsed through his body. A wave of savage intent, cold and determined. The Sanguis Impera responded not with hesitation, but with bloodthirst. Gone was the hesitant will of the Crimson Virethorn. Now, it was a weapon of carnage—utterly fearless, forged in blood, and hungry for more.

Thalion smiled.

Let’s see if Ankhet’s ready for this.